


Your Place or Mine?

by loveglowsinthedark



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Basically a lot of boy on boy action with a little story thrown in, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Sex, Happy Ending, Harry and Ron are a little shitty, Kinda OOC!Harry too?, M/M, OOC!Draco, Rimming, Rough Sex, Top!Harry, Unrequited Love, bottom!Draco, fluffiest fluff, seriously so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7318354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveglowsinthedark/pseuds/loveglowsinthedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This person is so much harder to hate. And I’m supposed to hate Malfoy. How the fuck else am I supposed to limit this to just sex?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Place or Mine?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the work of J.K. Rowling and is not my intellectual property. I intend no copyright infringement and seek no financial gain from this work. This work of fiction is purely for entertainment purposes and honestly, it's basically just porn. (Lol.)

Some people, you take one look at, and all you want to do is simply fuck them until they forget their own name.

For example: Draco Malfoy.  

Slimy fucker sitting there at the bar, completely unaware of all the attention he’s getting, chewing thoughtfully on his lips.

Lips that I cannot stop imagining wrapped around my cock.

My cock that’s been half-hard for an hour, straining pathetically against my jeans.

Ron says something and I absolutely cannot bring myself to give a fuck.

“What,” I say absently anyway, considering he’s my best mate and all.

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry,” Ron begins exasperatedly. “Just take him home already. I can see your boner from over here.”

I snort mid-sip and a spray of beer lands on the table.

“That’s Malfoy,” I point out unnecessarily, wiping my mouth, watching Malfoy raise his glass of Firewhiskey and sip – his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and I have a sudden urge to lick it.

“Your point being?” Ron sips his own beer, cocking an eyebrow up at me. “You’ve slept with a dozen Slytherin blokes by now. At least.”

“Yeah, but that’s _Malfoy,_ ” I repeat as if that makes things clearer. I can’t stop staring at Malfoy as he idly traces what must be a moisture ring on the gleaming surface of the bar.

“Scared?” I can _hear_ Ron smirk and know he’s reverse psychology-ing me and find the tactic working as I get to my feet, draining the rest of my beer as I do.

“Good luck finding another wing man,” I say, picking up and shrugging on Sirius’ leather jacket.

“No need, that bird’s mine tonight,” Ron says, gesturing. I look across the room and see a leggy blonde witch, dressed in a miniscule, red handkerchief of a dress, her feet strapped into sparkly, pencil heels, and her fair hair pulled over one skinny, bare shoulder, sipping on something pink and maintaining stubborn eye-contact with Ron as she pointedly licks her lips.

“Good on you, mate." I grin, tucking my wand up my sleeve.

“Hope you have as much luck as I’m about to.” He gets to his feet, runs a hand through his hair and grins at the finger I flip at him.

We part ways and I try to suppress the shudder of sheer _want_ that goes up my spine when my eyes land back on Malfoy.

“Bit unusual, seeing you alone,” I say by way of greeting, sliding on the stool next to his, intentionally letting my elbow graze his.

If he’s surprised at my sudden appearance next to him, he does a remarkable job at hiding it. He looks sideways at me, blinks and then smirks, although the familiar expression seems to lack its usual malice.

“You haven’t seen me in five years, Potter,” he says softly, tilting his head so his stupid blond hair falls into his eyes. He’s infuriatingly attractive.

“Yeah,” I reply, my eyes fixed on his pink mouth. “Still, can’t blame me for remembering you being permanently surrounded by a bunch of bodyguards. What, don’t need the ‘protection’ anymore?”

His face falls slightly, and then the corner of his mouth lifts in a wry smile.

“And who would I need protection from in here, you think?” His eyes actually twinkle merrily. What the fuck? What happened to the usual evil glimmer?

I take a long, extremely deliberate look at him, letting my eyes linger on his arse, crotch and finally his mouth.

“Me, probably,” I say in a low voice, now not taking my eyes off of his, waiting for that moment when it sinks in.

I can’t help smirking at his reaction – a light seeming to come on behind his eyes, and the way they momentarily widen before a gorgeous blush spreads across his cheeks, creeping down his long, pale neck, his teeth worrying his lower lip.

“Stop that,” he finally snaps into his whiskey, after a long pause during which I stare openly at him.

“Stop what, Malfoy?”

“You’re – it’s almost like you’re mentally undressing me.” He cocks an eyebrow, smirking, clearly hoping to make me uncomfortable.

“Almost? That’s exactly what I’m doing.” I drop my voice. “I’ve just got your shirt off.”

He looks at me, his mouth slightly open, eyes huge, his breathing slightly hitched.

“I didn’t think you’d ever dress in Muggle clothing. Do you know how sexy you look in those jeans, Malfoy? Too bad I just peeled them off.” I’m leaning in now, I can feel his warm breath on my face, and his pupils are definitely blown wide.

“Would you like me to keep going?” I whisper, spreading my legs so our knees brush.

“I – I--” He is blushing furiously now - it’s a beautiful sight.

Suddenly though, he slips off his seat and hurries away. I grin as I watch him disappear into the gents’. I wait, counting down from sixty before I reach for his abandoned glass, down the remaining Firewhiskey in a single gulp and make my way over to the loo, relishing the burn in my throat.

Two men exit just as I enter and a cheer goes up in my head at the sight of the single remaining occupant inside – his blond head bent as he washes his hands. It smells of piss and sweat in here along with a faint hint of the lemon scented soap near the sinks.

Malfoy looks up and catches sight of me in the mirror before he freezes.

Slowly, he turns around, pressing back against the sinks as I advance on him, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his erection a slight bump in his crotch.

When I press into him, groin to groin, he gasps softly, and then I’m kissing him. He tastes of the whiskey, and something else, something sweet and fresh and I can’t get enough of it.

I’m holding his face, tracing those fragile looking cheekbones, my thumbs probably rough against his unbelievably soft skin. He’s kissing me back, his hands clutching the lapels of my jacket, a delicious sort of whimper issuing from him.

My tongue is against his, pushing and licking and I feel another shiver go up my spine when the bastard runs the tip of his tongue along the roof of my mouth.

I pull back, panting, and he’s staring at me with those stormy grey eyes of his wide and shining, his mouth already swelling up, his breath coming in short gasps.

I hear voices from right outside the door, and in the next moment I’ve dragged him into a stall and slammed the door shut. What sounds like a small group of friends walk in, laughing and talking and the sound of flies being undone reaches us followed by the patter of piss on ceramic.

When I turn to him, Malfoy is looking right back at me – or rather, at my mouth.

We kiss again, grinding into one another, my hands roaming over him, coming to a rest on his denim-clad arse before squeezing hard. I bite his lip when he squeals in response before squeezing again. The men are still outside, arguing over a bunch of girls and who gets who.

Releasing his mouth, I push my face into the crook of his neck; he smells incredible. I lick and bite at the pale white skin, sucking blooms of pink along his neck, pushing my hands under his t-shirt so I can feel the warm, silken skin that seems to come alive under my touch, Malfoy undulating in the most unimaginably sexy way. He bucks against me, rubbing our still trapped cocks hard and I grit my teeth, pressing my forehead onto his shoulder.

And then I’ve undone his jeans and slipped my hands into his pants before he knows what’s going on. His arse is warm and wonderfully soft, and I cannot stop myself from kneading it furiously, swallowing all of the little sobs coming out of him, pinning him tightly to the wall with another hard kiss.

A set of raucous laughs erupts outside and Malfoy writhes against me, pulling away to let his head fall back, whispering a desperate, “ _Please._ ”

I turn him around roughly, pull his jeans and pants down and take his cock in my left hand only to have him let out a long, loud gasp.

The voices outside falter as I slap my other hand over his mouth. Malfoy is shaking under me, his hips moving seemingly out of his control as he rocks his cock into my fist. Then the men outside finally make their way out into the bar again, laughing and slapping each other on the back.

“Jesus,” I growl into his ear, before licking under it for good measure, marking him with a sharp nip and making him shudder against me.

“Please,” he pants. “Please, Potter.”

“Fuck.”

I’m harder than steel and feel momentarily worried that I might just come even before I bury myself balls deep in him. “Get it nice and wet,” I say as I push two fingers into his mouth. He gasps at first, and then licks and sucks my fingers efficiently, nipping at the tips and sending yet more blood rushing to my cock.

And then I’m feeling along his crack, finding his tightly furled entrance and tracing one wet finger around it. Malfoy jerks, his head bowed to rest his forehead on his arm as he reaches his other hand behind to clutch at my jacket again, breathing loudly.

Slowly, I push my forefinger in upto the first knuckle and stop, his choked cry ringing around the stall. I gently squeeze his cock, running my thumb around the head and pulling out and pushing again, this time not stopping until my finger’s is completely buried in the scorching velvet heat; I literally cannot find words to describe how fucking _tight_ he is.

Malfoy is oddly quiet and when I look over at him he’s biting into his forearm, shaking like a leaf, and then realise his cock has started going limp in my hand.

I curse before hurriedly stroking it back to attention, fondling his soft, fuzzy balls before gently grazing the head of his cock with my nails, earning an appreciative hiss and a gentle buck. I lean in to suck on his rapidly bruising neck, gently curling the finger still inside him until –

“Oh!” He bucks so violently, his head nearly smashes my nose. I pin him more forcefully, my hand flying over his cock, my finger gently grazing his velvety insides.

He’s barely muffling his moans now and it’s driving me crazy. I reach below his balls, find the soft skin there and _press_ – and then he’s coming with a hoarse, keening moan, long, white spurts coating my hand and the wall, as he bucks wildly with his head thrown back onto my shoulder, his pink mouth open and his eyes screwed shut.

I pull my finger out of him and hold his hip steady while pumping the last of his orgasm out of him. He whimpers again, his cock probably hypersensitive now and, fuck, but I need to kiss him some more.

I turn him around, my tongue in his mouth before he can open his eyes and I’m crushing him to myself, his slight body limp and malleable. My erection presses into his hip and he breaks away with a soft gasp.

His eyes are slightly unfocused but gleam as he looks at me and there’s that stunning blush still staining his face and neck.

“So, your place or mine?” I’m not entirely sure why my voice comes out as a growl and then Malfoy shivers under me. He doesn’t answer right away, gulping hard and blinking his eyes into focus.

“Mine,” he whispers eventually, and I nod once before stepping back. He pulls up his pants and jeans and buckles up with shaky hands, his fingers fumbling clumsily.

We walk back into the bar, and head towards the door, my eyes falling on Ron and his catch for the night tucked away in the darkest corner of the bar, their mouths fused together, the witch’s leg thrown over Ron’s lap, his hand cupping her breast over the thin fabric of her dress, thumb moving in circles over her nipple.

I shake my head, hiding a smile and open the door for Malfoy as we step out into the chilly night.

He turns to head towards the Apparation point in the alley behind but I stop him with an arm around the waist.

“I have my bike here,” I say shortly, leading him the other way to where I’d parked Sirius’ bike. “Hope you don’t mind flying.”

“What?” Malfoy asks blankly, still dazed and gorgeous from his orgasm. I hide a smug smirk even as I’m almost overwhelmed by the need to kiss him again.

“My motorbike,” I repeat. “Well, it belonged to my godfather.”

“Sirius Black,” he says, and I look down at him in surprise.

“That’s right.” I stop by the huge, glossy, black bike and Malfoy, hugging himself and shivering lightly, watches as I kick up the stand, get on and roll it backwards onto the street. “Come on, then”, I say softly.

He steps off the kerb and walks forward slowly before getting on behind me, and I’m suddenly aware of just how ridiculously skinny and strangely frail he is. I watch him in the mirror and the fear in his eyes is clear, made even more evident by the constant chewing of his lip.

“Hey,” I say softly, turning around. “You’re going to be fine, alright?” He nods. “Here, hold on tight.” I reach behind me, grab both his hands and wrap his arms tight around myself. I have a sudden vision of doing the same with his legs as I enter him and my cock twitches ruefully.

I press the ignition and the bike starts with a roar, visibly startling Malfoy. With a shouted warning I let it run a few feet before taking off.

We’re soaring high within seconds and Malfoy’s arms are squeezing me, his forehead pressed to the nape of my neck.

I never tire of this – London, all lit up at night, is stunning. The icy wind whips my hair back and I press a button next to the ignition so that, suddenly, we’re both enveloped in warmth even as we zip along at breakneck speed.

“Malfoy, look,” I say. He opens his eyes and I point to the stunning view below, the London Eye lit up in blue, standing out in the sea of gold and bronze city lights, the Thames a gleaming ebony sheet. Malfoy is silent for several long minutes, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight.

“What do you think?” I ask finally.

“It’s – it’s spectacular,” he replies and I grin at his awed expression.

“So, where are we headed?” I ask.

Malfoy, as it turns out, is quite good at offering directions, something I can hardly say about Ron. In about ten minutes, we’re landing on the roof of a very neat building in Kensington.

“I’m on the fifth floor,” Malfoy says as he climbs off and sways unsteadily on the spot. I hurriedly get off and reach out to steady him, gripping his bony wrist tightly and our eyes meet. He’s biting his lip again and I lean in to rescue it.

He kisses me back enthusiastically, his arms coming up around my neck as I crush him to me, his tongue stroking mine, and then we’re being squeezed through darkness, landing unsteadily in Malfoy’s bedroom.

I pull back and take one look around before picking him up and dumping him unceremoniously on the creamy white covers on the high bed. He toes his shoes off and I do the same, my eyes never leaving his. He’s staring at up me with an expression unlike anything I’ve seen on his smirking, pointed face before – excitement, arousal, a hint of fear if I’m not mistaken, and something... something else.

I pull off my t-shirt and then I’m on him, kissing him, sucking hard on those plump lips, licking around inside his warm, sugary mouth. He’s half sitting up, kissing me back, his hands, still cold from the ride, moving over my back and making me shiver.

I pull back again, and tear at his clothes, wrenching them off him in mere seconds until he’s lying there, naked and waifish, squirming under my gaze, all alabaster skin and never-ending limbs, his ribs sticking up sharply under delicious looking pink nipples, his cock, slender, beautiful and rosy, curving up to his flat stomach. The only thing marring the expanse of flawless ivory, apart from the blooming love bites along his neck and shoulders, is his Dark Mark; I catch the flash of dull grey before he turns his arm over self-consciously, averting his gaze, forehead creased with a nervous frown.

I reach out and turn his arm over, ignoring his hissed protests, bending down to examine the ugly tattoo, the skull and its snarling snake looking more foolish than sinister now. His gasp is one of shock more than arousal when I give it a firm lick, my tongue curling around the rounded skull.

“Potter,” he whispers and the wonder in his voice makes me look up to see him watching me wide eyed. I lick once more, not looking away and watch the way his mouth falls open a little, his chest rising as he draws in a long, shuddering breath, and his pebbled nipples are extremely distracting all of a sudden.

I suck on one, getting a long moan in return as one icy hand creeps into my hair. I shift and take the other one in my mouth, licking and biting as he bucks under me, whispering inaudible encouragement.

"Fucking beautiful," I murmur, breathing in his fragrant skin, moving down to dip my tongue into his navel, swirling it around. Malfoy exhales shakily, pushing up, seemingly involuntarily, against my mouth.

I find myself all over him, licking, tasting, biting, marking, and he welcomes it, urging me on further, his breathy sighs and moans making me feel torn between wanting to never stop, and fucking him unconscious. He cries out when I take his cock in my mouth and taste the bitter-sweet pre-come on the tip, licking around the head and dipping into the slit once before letting it bounce back onto his belly.

And then I lift his leg, my fingers tracing his opening once more, not missing the way his eyes fly open, a look of pure terror seeping into them.

“Go – go slow, okay?” he says haltingly, and that’s when realization hits me like a Bludger on the head.

“Malfoy.” My voice is extremely calm and steady compared to the near hysterical screeching in my head. “Have you ever done this before?”

If his furious blush hadn’t been answer enough, his defiant chin-raise and scowl definitely was.

“You don’t do virgins, Potter?” he asks acerbically, looking, for the first time all evening, like the Slytherin nemesis he’d been at school.

I want to ask him if he’s insane. Just the knowledge that he’s never been fucked before... my cock _aches_ with the dramatically increased need to fuck him. Suddenly his extreme reaction in the loo back at the pub makes so much sense – I had barely prepped him.

I lean in and kiss him hard, my tongue prodding deep and thorough, holding his face firmly in place. “Fuck, Malfoy,” I growl when I pull back. “You don’t even realise how fucking hot you are, do you?”

He fights to keep his impassive mask on but I can tell he’s pleased by the way his eyes light up.

Propped up on his elbows, he watches unblinkingly as I conjure up a jar of lube, unscrew the lid and lift his leg again. This time when I trace his opening, he falls back and exhales slowly, shivering slightly at the feel of the cold lube, his hands fisted anxiously in the sheets.

Adding another generous dollop of lube, I push in a finger past the first ring of muscle. Other than a slight buck, Malfoy doesn’t react.

“Okay?” I ask and he nods, his eyes closed. I push further, painfully slow, going all the way in, Malfoy’s hips slowly rising off the bed the deeper I reach, before pulling out, scooping up more lube and going back in. This time he lets out a little sound, throwing his arm over his eyes and I kiss the thigh resting on my shoulder. “You need to relax, or it’s going to hurt even more,” I warn and instantly feel him unclench a little around my finger.

Soon enough, I’ve picked up a brisk pace, keeping my thrusts shallow, and Malfoy’s hips are bucking in time with my finger, his mouth slightly open, his soft pants the only sound from him.  I add a second finger, this time pushing in steadily and curving my fingers so I can tease his prostate. I bite into his thigh when he  _moans_  at that and spreads open his other leg, feeling like I’m going to pass out from not tending to my own seeping erection.

By the time I’m stretching him open with three fingers, cruelly brushing his prostate just enough to keep him on edge, he’s throwing his head from side to side, his hands tearing at his pillow, moaning sluttily and I simply _cannot_ take it any longer.

Pulling my fingers out with a wet squelch, I wrench my jeans and pants off, kicking them away carelessly. Grabbing another dollop of lube, I carefully coat my cock, hissing at the more than welcome touch, before I slide into place between his legs, meeting his gaze as he pants up at me. I lean over him, balancing on one arm, guiding my slick cock to his opening and counting upto three before finally, _finally_ pushing into the vice like heat that is his arse.

He cries out, his head thrown back, his golden hair fanned out over the white pillow, his beautiful, long neck strained, just begging to be licked. Holding on to the last of my patience, I lean in and lick along the length, all the way upto his chin, before I order, “Relax, Malfoy. C’mon.” 

Slowly, after what feels like hours during which I simply wait, gritting my teeth in an effort to not just pound into him, he slowly reaches for me.

“Potter,” he whispers and that’s all the encouragement I need. I pull out and slam back in, hoping I don’t make him bleed or something but his answering, drawn out moan makes me ram on and on mindlessly.

I nibble at his jaw, at his neck, anywhere I can reach, any bit of pink and white skin I can get my mouth on. Malfoy responds beautifully, pulling me to him, mouthing up and along my neck, leaving biting kisses, his breathy little sounds broken with the force of my careless thrusts. His fingers press into my skin as he strokes up and down my back, blunt nails digging in with every other thrust.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he shouts at one particularly hard thrust, and I quickly stop. “Do that again!” he pants, his cheeks stained beautifully peach, eyes wide and wild.

“This?” I carefully repeat my last thrust, hoping it’s the right angle.

Malfoy arches, crying out again and tightening his arms around me. “Fffuck yes!” he sobs.

Triumphant, I pull out nearly all the way before I pound back in, trying my best to maintain the same angle. He’s egging me on now, one leg wrapped around my waist, the other wantonly thrown wide open, his heel pressed into the mattress. He feels fucking heavenly, wetly clutching at my cock at every back stroke, hips bucking up to meet mine.

I groan into his neck and bite down, knowing I don’t have too long left in me. I reach between us and tug on his cock, rubbing my thumb along the slit. His nails rip across my back as he thrashes under me, calling out a garbled mix of words.

Two more savage thrusts and he’s muffling a scream on my shoulder, body curling up into mine, his cock erupting in my hand, his arse clenching almost painfully around me as he  wraps both legs around my midriff, ankles locking securely.

I vaguely hear myself swear before I’m emptying myself into him, my thrusts lifting his arse right off the bed, his hand knotted in my hair as he sucks under my ear.

I’m not sure if I’ve passed out or not but it’s only the slightly vague realisation, several minutes later, that I’m probably crushing him that makes me finally move and slide off him, my cock slipping out of his damp entrance. He makes a small sound of discomfort but I’m already picking up my wand to heal him. I’ve never done virgins before so damn if I’m going to leave out a basic healing charm – even if it’s Malfoy.

Just to be doubly sure, I get up and bend over him, pushing his legs apart and peering in between.

“Potter, what the fuck are you doing?” Malfoy hisses, immediately scrambling up onto his elbows.

“Checking for signs of bleeding,” I say calmly, still trying to separate his knees.

“The healing charm would have taken care of that.” He's bright red and trying to sit up, struggling to cover himself up with the sheets.

“I’d still like to make sure, so stop being such a _girl!_ ” I finally wrench his legs apart and lift with my hands below his knees, holding them wide apart. His puckered opening, gleaming moistly and leaking out a trickle of come, looks fine even if slightly sore. I want to lean in and lap at it as I gently flick my thumb over it, and hear his sharp intake of breath, looking up to see him lying there, his hands covering his still red face.

He removes his hands and glares down at me when he hears my amused chuckle and lifts his foot as if to kick me. I quickly put his legs down and throw myself next to him, still laughing.

“I didn’t realise you went from star Auror to star Healer,” he says sarcastically, finally managing to pull the sheets over himself, before grudgingly throwing them over me as well.

“What can I say-” I tuck my hands below my head, “-I’ve never fucked a virgin before.”

I look at him to see him scowling at the ceiling. “Ought I to thank you for honouring me by claiming my virginity, O great Saviour?”

“Only if I was any good,” I reply casually.

He purses his lips, turning pink again.

“Then again, how would you know the difference?” I grin. I think goading each other is something we simply cannot help.

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, Potter,” he spits. “I’d know if you were rubbish.”

“Which I wasn’t, I take.” I turn over on my side, resting my head in one hand.

“You were alright,” he states loftily after a slight pause.

“How can someone like--” I pause. “You... Have you looked at yourself? _How_ can you be a virgin?”

He looks highly affronted even as he blushes.

“Not that it is any of your business, Scarhead,” he says, his lip curled. “But I’m not a complete novice, alright? I’ve done- things...” He suddenly trails off, determinedly not looking at me.

“What, like kissing?” I snort. “Holding hands while kissing?”

Suddenly, I’m flat on my back with Malfoy half on top of me, his wand digging into my jaw.

“I’d shut up now, if I were you,” he threatens and then looks furious when I burst out laughing.

“Alright, alright!” I hold up my hands. And then before he can even blink, I’ve flipped us over, and pinned his hands above his head, his body soft and warm and irresistible under mine.

“Rule number one,” I breathe, our noses bumping, his eyes gleaming. “Never relax your wand until you’ve immobilised your opponent.”

“Fuck you, Potter." But he seems on the verge of a smile.

“Already?” I raise an eyebrow, just as my cock twitches against his groin. “Well, sure." I grin before I lower my mouth onto his.

* * *

“And? How was he?! Tell me his cock was huge!” Pansy shrieks into my face, a bit of her gin and tonic spilling onto the table.

“For heaven’s sake.” I grit my teeth, looking around. The couple at the neighbouring table stare at Pansy like she’s an urchin off the streets. “Would you lower your voice, please? This is a nice place.”

“Draco Malfoy,” she begins. “If you seriously expect me to ‘keep my voice down’--” She makes air quotes, her rock of an engagement ring sparkling prettily the light, “--after you’ve just told me that you lost your virginity to Harry fucking Potter, you do not know me at all.” I sigh, shaking my head and sipping my whiskey. “Now tell me how the Chosen One was in bed before I hex you,” she finishes before taking a large sip of her drink.

“He was...” I almost don’t want to admit how incredible the scar-headed git had been. “Alright,” I say lamely. Pansy stares back at me, her expression stony.

“Alright?” she asks in a monotone. I sigh, giving in.

“He was fantastic, alright?” I down my whiskey in a single gulp and raise my hand to request a refill. Pansy barely manages to suppress a shrill squeal.

“And? I need details!” she whines. “Has he really bulked out like his photos in the Prophet show? And what’s his cock like?”

“Yes he has and it was fine, Pans!” I feel my face heat.

“You are such a prude, it physically hurts me.”

“I am not!”

“Then tell me what his cock was like!”

“It was perfect alright,” I snap. “It was fucking perfect.”

“Did he, you know...” She gesticulates wildly, her eyes shining excitedly.

“Yes,” I answer flatly, willing myself not to think back a week. It results in a spontaneous erection as I’ve discovered.

“Did it hurt?”

“Only at first.”

“Did you tell him you’re a... you know.”

“He guessed.”

“Oh fuck, then what?”

“Then he took it away, Pans. I assure you I’m not a virgin anymore!”

She squeals excitedly again. “How _was_ he though?”

I sigh. How had Potter been in bed?

Fucking breath taking, that’s how. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for myself for not having had sex sooner or to feel glad that I’d waited, because Potter was a bloody amazing lover. Rough and gentle all at the same time, thorough... perfect.

“Perfect,” I find myself repeating. Pansy frowns.

“You said that already,” she points out. “About his cock.”

“Well, he was perfect in bed too,” I say irritably. The waiter brings me my drink; I gulp some down at once.

“Well?” Pansy presses. “When are you meeting him again?”

My stomach clenches. We hadn’t spoken about that. We hadn’t spoken at all. I’d woken the next morning to find only a faint trace of his cologne still lingering around me and a note pinned to his pillow.

_Don’t mean to leave like this. Have to be somewhere. Will firecall._

_HP._

I absently pat my pocket; I’ve been carrying the note around all week. He hadn’t firecalled. Or owled. It was almost like he didn’t remember having fucked me into my bed well into the night; like he hadn't left me weak in the knees and temporarily unable to walk normally so that for three whole days I'd had to shuffle along awkwardly, taking tiny steps, drawing odd stares from everyone at work, having to throw Cushioning Charms on every surface I sat on, all the while feeling like some sort of sicko for actually _savouring_  the delicious burn from his cock in my arse.

“He-” I hesitate. “We haven’t decided. He said he’d call,” I add quickly when I see her expression darken.

“Oh.” She sips her drink, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, you should know that I’m beyond delighted for you, darling.”

“Pans, you do realise this may lead nowhere?” I try to sound casual, perusing the menu as I speak.

“Well, one can hope,” she says at once. “Lord knows it’s been long enough since you-" she pauses when I frown. “Here’s to you and Potter then." She shrugs and smiles, raising her glass at me before draining it. She beckons the waiter over and I quickly look back at my menu, feeling like a fool for hoping.

I know that if I tell her about the note and his subsequent failure to firecall, she might march into his office at the Ministry and demand that he see me again or something equally mortifying like that. I also know that she is going to be absolutely obsessed with Potter and me for some time to come and question me endlessly about him. I may be a good liar but Pansy and my mother are remarkably talented when it comes to spotting a lie and I don’t know how long I can keep up pretences.

If I’m completely honest with myself, I’m still in shock at his utterly transparent approach at the pub that night. I’ve had men hit on me of course, but Potter – Potter had almost undressed and fucked me right there on the bar; all within two minutes of walking up to me.

The fact that he’s gotten distractingly handsome on top of being infuriatingly, obnoxiously charming, certainly doesn’t help anyone trying to resist him. He’s finally done away with those damn glasses and those bloody green eyes of his are even more striking now than they were when shielded by those clunky frames of his. His impossible hair only adds to this playboy image he’s acquired, making him appear as though he’s just shagged someone’s brains out and didn’t bother brushing his hair after. And his bloody bedroom voice that makes me break out in gooseflesh...fuck.

Bloody hell, I need to stop thinking about Potter.

* * *

“Are you telling me,” Hermione asks calmly. “That you slept with Draco Malfoy?”

I shrug. “Yeah.” When she continues to stare at me as if waiting for me to tell her I’m joking, I add, “He was one hell of a fuck, ‘Mione.”

“Harry Potter,” she starts shrilly, looking mortified. “How many times have I told-"

She breaks off and glares at me while I lounge across the sofa and laugh.

“Seriously, though,” I say now. “It was brilliant. I’m done with him, but it was fucking brilliant.”

She looks at me like I’m a dead, putrefied street rat.

“Just as long as you’ve told him that,” she finally says, shaking her head, picking up the small bulging bag on the coffee table.

“Why would I do that?” I blink up at her. She stares at me like I asked her what two plus two is.

“Because it’s the decent thing to do?” she says slowly.

 I frown. “You’ve never said anything about my indecency with all the other guys I’ve slept with.”

“What if Malfoy goes to the press?” she says in a rush.

“He wouldn’t be the first to.” I brush it off.

“You owe him your li-"

 “I paid that life debt back, Hermione!” I nearly yell.

“As long as you’re alive, you’re in his debt,” she says flatly. “And honestly, this isn’t about a life debt. It’s about you being a decent person to someone you’ve known for over a decade.”

I open my mouth to argue some more but just then there’s a faint _pop_ and Ron appears, his Auror robes flung over one arm, white shirt half unbuttoned, freezing in place at the sight of Hermione standing in the middle of our living room.

There is an extremely long and supremely uncomfortable silence during which Ron and Hermione stare unblinkingly and rather impassively at each other. Then Hermione turns around and neatly pecks my cheek before striding across the room and disappearing in a whirl of emerald flames.

“How’d the interrogation go?” I ask loudly. Ron is still frozen in place. “You okay?” I add quietly.

He looks around blinking, hangs up his robes and kicks the coffee table for good measure.

“He talked, we got a name,” he mutters, walking up to the sideboard and pouring himself half a snifter full of whiskey – something I’ve noticed he only ever does if there’s been a death on a case or when he runs into Hermione. “He’s being held until after you’ve checked the new lead on Monday.”

“That’s great,” I say lamely. “You feel like going out tonight?”

“Hell yeah,” Ron replies hoarsely, having just downed his drink in one gulp. I grin.

“Will the blonde be joining us?” I prod. Ron almost never goes back to a one-night-stand but three days ago I came back from a stake-out at two in the morning and found them on the sofa with his face buried between her legs, her huge breasts spilling out over the top of her leopard-print bra and her hysterical shrieking reverberating off the walls.

Ron has the nerve to grin at me, almost as if I haven’t been permanently scarred with the image of my best mate eating twat burnt into my mind for all eternity.

“Speaking of blonds,” he remarks nonchalantly, sorting through his mail. “How was Malfoy?

I snort, not looking up from the Prophet, my stomach suddenly fluttering like a teen girl’s.

Malfoy – that fucking sex bomb. I’m almost beginning to wonder if he really was a virgin. Nobody can be that fucking inviting and drop dead sexy unless they’ve had _some_ prior experience.

The way he’d pulled me into him, bucking onto my cock with each, perfectly timed thrust, his sinful mouth finding every little, sensitive nook to lick or suck, his sparkling white teeth leaving behind a love bite so severe, I’ve had to use a glamour to cover it up for three whole days, seeing as it wouldn’t completely heal even with a charm.

And Merlin knows I want a piece of that arse again. I’ve been dreaming of fucking him again ever since I left his flat that morning.

That’s the other thing. I’ve never left a note before. I’ve never felt the need to... justify. Nobody else was ever deemed worthy of an apologetic excuse for having left while they were asleep.

And this is Malfoy! The guy I’ve hated since I was eleven; the guy I picked up at the pub with, surprisingly, next to no effort and also the guy who turned out to be a fuck so good, I’ve been near obsessed with him ever since.

“Mate?”

Ron’s voice startles me and I look up with a well concealed, “Hmm?”

“I asked if you plan on seeing him again,” he asks, smirking suspiciously.

“I dunno.” I shrug. “Hermione thinks that I ought to tell him if I don’t want to see him anymore,” I quickly add, feeling slightly guilty to use her name to serve as a very efficient distraction.

“Hermione thinks a lot of things,” he snaps immediately. I sigh, waiting. “What’d she want anyway?” he finally gives in to ask.

“The last of her stuff,” I say, throwing the Prophet aside and standing up. “It’s been ages since she moved out. Let’s get changed and head out then?” I walk to my room, leaving Ron standing there and staring at the spot she’d vanished.

An hour later, Ron has his tongue down his blonde girlfriend’s throat on the dance floor and I desperately want a piece of a particular blond myself. I look around – maybe I can find another hot, blond guy for tonight. I snort as I look around; not one comes even close to the real thing.

Giving up, I get to my feet and head out. I’m on my bike and in the air before I’ve given myself time to reconsider.

* * *

I’ve barely just turned off the shower when I hear the knock at the front door. Slipping a little in my haste, I grab the towel I’d spelled to stay warm and hurry out.

“Who is it?” I call down the hallway.

“Open up and see for yourself,” comes back the sing-song reply. I pause, my mouth falling open, rage suddenly burning through my veins. After a whole week? It can’t be him –

“Surpriiise,” he sings lazily when I open the door. He’s leaning up against the door frame, his hair tousled enough that I know he’s flown here, his stupid handsome face smug. He’s wearing a maroon shirt left unbuttoned over a white t-shirt underneath his worn, black leather jacket and a grin that makes me want to punch it off before kissing him.

In spite of being furious with him I feel something spark to life in my stomach. Trying hard not to let my excitement show, I raise an eyebrow and put on my best bored voice, “And what do _you_ want, Potter?”

“You want me to tell you or show you?” he leers, unabashedly taking in the sight of me in a towel, dripping water on to my carpet.

“Salazar, you are such an arsehole,” I declare, clutching the towel tighter, my traitor cock twitching.

He raises his eyebrows, looking bored. “Are you going to invite me in or not?” I open my mouth to answer but no sound comes out. “That’s what I thought,” he says in a satisfied voice, stepping in and shutting the door behind him, locking it wandlessly.

“I- You can’t just– How dare-" I stutter, trying to find words and he simply waits, looking amused.

“Let’s save the talking for later, shall we?” He cocks his head, his impossible hair falling over his eyes - those eyes, no longer hindered by spectacles, gleaming like bright green emeralds.

“Later when?” I whisper like a fucking idiot as he crowds into my personal space. In reply he simply smiles that heart-stopping, crooked smile and tugs off my towel, before bringing his mouth down to mine.

Potter mercilessly kneads my arse as we kiss hard and it is only several seconds later that I realise I’m fumbling with his belt buckle. I finally manage to undo his fly and pull out his damp, gorgeous erection, nipping his lip as he jerks in response. For a whole week I regretted not having got the chance to taste his cock and decide I’m going to get right around to that.

I try to pull away but his grip on me is vice-like, leaving no room or opportunity to do anything but stroke his thick, monstrosity of a hard-on.

He releases my mouth with a gasp, looking at me with a slightly shocked expression. Smirking, and never breaking eye contact, I sink to my knees, any remaining anger at his ungallant disappearance gone as I finally take in the glorious sight that is his cock.

I’ve sucked cock before of course, but as I take Potter in my hand and start stroking lazily, I’m suddenly aware of my compulsive need to completely and utterly blow his mind.

I nuzzle the base of his cock, the crisp, coarse curls tickling my face, the mingled scent of soap and his musk making my head spin.

Potter’s muttered oath has me smiling to myself as I pull back and take his cock into my mouth. There’s a hoarse gasp as I try not to choke when his hand comes down to the back of my head, pushing gently. Focusing on breathing through my nose, I let his cock rest, heavy and hot, on my tongue a few seconds, revelling in the taste of him, before leaning forward a bit more and then moving all the way back while sucking hard, my own cock swelling further at his reaction.

“Jesus Christ,” Potter growls, his hips bucking slightly.

I lean forward once more and don’t stop until he hits the back of my throat. I hear his soft cry and try not to gag as I hold for a few more seconds before sucking my way back again.

In a while though, I’ve set up a pace that even Potter seems unsteadied by. With one hand on the wall to support himself, and another clenched in my hair, I can tell just how hard he’s trying not to choke me as I suck his cock right down to the root with every move forward, stroking it alternately with one hand.

With my free hand, I fondle his heavy balls, letting my nails graze lightly along the fuzz before I almost _feel_ them tighten. A couple of more strokes and a particularly hard suck later, Potter is shouting a warning to me, trying to pull out of my mouth.

I grab his taut arse and pull, opening my throat and swallowing the load of warm, sour-sweet spunk. There’s an odd, triumphant rushing sound in my ears and Potter’s muscular thighs are trembling in front of me.

I release his cock, licking away any remnants of spunk while I try to get my own heart to stop throwing itself against my rib cage like a maniacal, trapped bird.

And then Potter is hoisting me to my feet, staring at me with his mouth slightly open, panting like he’s been running.

“Where--” he asks, “did you learn to do that?”

I nibble over his jugular. “Call me a virgin now, I dare you.” 

He growls and then we’re kissing again, Potter walking me backwards until I bump into the sofa.

The next thing I know, I’ve fallen backwards, inelegantly sprawling on the sofa before Potter kneels on the floor and roughly flips me around and onto all fours.

“Let’s get you ready, shall we,” he says softly, _dangerously_ , before I feel his large hands prise my arse open, shivering as his breath plays over my opening. Just as I feel the heat flood my face, I feel a very wet, very firm stroke along my crack.

An embarrassing sound escapes me as I crane my neck to look around. Potter has his face between my arse cheeks and, yes, oh fucking Salazar in a thong, he is licking my arsehole.

“Potter!” I realise I sound like I’m being choked. In reply, Potter simply sticks his tongue right into me.

I’m certain I’m about to pass out. I’m shaking as Potter’s tongue, Potter’s relentless, wonderful, _magical_ tongue is licking around my arsehole in dizzying circles before plunging back into me, stabbing in and out until I’m screaming my approval, my forehead pressing into the sofa as I clutch at my own hair.

Until of course, Potter seals his mouth around my hole and _sucks._

And he doesn’t stop until I’m dizzy from the sensation, crying out hoarsely for... for what, I have no idea.

Mercilessly he tongue-fucks me before sucking hard again and then, just as I’m about to explode into the most intense orgasm I’ve had in my life, he pulls away.

“No!” It comes out as a sob and I realise just how far gone I am that I don’t care.

I look around and see Potter, now naked, his incredibly well-defined chest and abs covered with a thin glaze of sweat, unscrewing a jar of that blue lube he'd conjured last time. When he none too gently pushes a well-lubed finger into me and then presses his tongue in a tight circle around my arsehole again, I come _hard_ in an explosion of pain-pleasure that leaves me momentarily blind, shocking me into silence save for a sob that rips itself out when he forces out the last few dribbles of come by massaging my prostate.

“And we’re just getting started,” he growls into my arse, his tongue worming its way back in.

* * *

It’s been a while since I’ve felt this worn out after sex. It’s definitely Malfoy’s fault - Malfoy who is currently lying completely motionless next to me. I’d be afraid of having killed him but for the steady rise and fall of his thin chest. Across which are the faded scars from the curse I’d shot at him - scars that strangely enough, when licked, get Malfoy screaming and thrashing like a five Knut whore.

The bastard definitely keeps something up his arse that makes a person want to fuck him non-stop. Or maybe the slimy git hexed me into wanting him this bad, I’m nearly completely sure of it. There is no other explanation as to why, hours of mind-numbingly good sex later, I’ve still not had my fill of him.

I look at him now – he’s painfully thin, so light that I end up manhandling him like a rag doll during sex. He has features as sharp and perfect as some mystical woodland creature and his stupid, sleek blond hair is irresistibly soft, perfect for grabbing as I take him from behind...

My cock stirs again and I lean over him, caressing his hip bones, his ribs and his collarbones, before bending down and running my tongue along his shoulders, up his neck and then nibbling his jaw.

“You’re insatiable,” he comments, his voice barely audible from exhaustion. I pull back and look down at him – tired, heavy-lidded eyes, tousled hair, lips kissed and bitten to nearly twice their size; fuck him but he’s bloody gorgeous.

He smiles as I look down at him and I quickly pull away and lie back down.

“You don’t know the half of it,” I reply, punching the pillow into better shape just for something to do – anything to get rid of the weird fluttering in my belly.

“Surprised you’re still here,” he says casually and I look him, cocking an eyebrow.

“I had to be somewhere last week,” I say.

“Yeah, you wrote.” He turns onto his side and I’m surprised to see him grinning playfully.

“You don’t believe me, I suppose,” I ask drily.

“Does it matter?”

I don’t answer at once, simply looking at him. Does it matter to me whether or not former Death Eater Draco Malfoy believes something I say? Dozens of men probably haven’t before this, and I haven’t given a fuck what any of them think of me the morning after.

So why am I suddenly anxious to have this git believe my feeble excuse?

“No,” I reply.

He shrugs, giving me a ‘there-you-go’ expression, and instantly I’m annoyed at how he’d turned that around.

“I don’t do morning afters,” I clarify brusquely.

“No, I’m sure you don’t.”

“It’s not personal.”

“Of course it isn’t.”

“This isn’t going to go anywhere, okay?” I blurt. “It’s just sex.”

He doesn’t reply at once.

“Fine by me, Potter,” he says pleasantly. “I wasn’t picking out baby names or anything yet, don’t worry.”

“Good.” I’m relieved.

This _is_ a relief... right?

“So, what happened to Weasel and Bush Head?” he asks out of the blue. I turn to look at him and he’s looking at me with his silver eyes all wide and curious.

I frown. “They broke up.” He rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Ever the sharpest arrow in the quiver,” he mutters under his breath. “Yes, Potter. I know they broke up. Word gets around. What went wrong?”

I shrug. What did go wrong?

“When I think back, all I remember is a lot of long bouts of sulking and cold silences between them,” I say slowly, frowning at the memory.

Hermione barely made it to our shared flat most nights. She’d be at St.Mungos nearly twenty hours a day and it drove Ron insane.

“Hermione’s life in Healer Training meant she barely had any time for Ron, and I guess every relationship can only take so much strain.” I realise what I’ve said a few seconds after I’ve spoken aloud and turn around to frown at Malfoy again. I’ve maintained a staunch silence regarding the break-up of my two best friends and here he got me to talk with no effort at all.

He’s looking at me thoughtfully. After a few seconds he sighs.

“Goes to show,” he says softly.

“What?”

“No matter how long you’ve been in love with somebody...” he trails off, staring at the ceiling and then pauses, frowning. “It’s not enough to just be in love, Potter,” he rephrases.

“What do you mean?” My scepticism rings clear when I speak. He looks at me exasperatedly.

“You’ve got to really want to _be_ with the person, Potter,” he says slowly.

“You’re full of shit, Malfoy.” I snort and his expression darkens resentfully. “They’ve been in love since, what, third year?” He doesn’t say anything, merely waiting for me to go on. “Of course they want to _be_ with one another.”

“Then why’d they break up?” he asks at once, his expression maddeningly smug.

“It was their call to make, Malfoy!” My voice rises now. “Hermione felt like she needed to put her career first and Ron felt like he needed to be with someone who gave him her time or not be with anyone at all.”

I dwell for a moment on the numerous girls who write to Ron after their one night of fun, nearly begging to be with him, their letters bordering on worshipful, and how Ron would always laugh and throw the mail straight into the fire.

“Exactly, he didn’t want to _be_ with her,” Malfoy says now, softly. “He loves her – I don’t even know the man and I know he still does – but he isn’t willing to work a little harder so he can _be_ with her.”

“Who says he isn’t willing to work hard?” I scowl.

“Why’d he let her go then?”

I open my mouth and when I realise I’m stumped, turn to him angrily.

“You know what, Malfoy,” I burst out. “You’re right, you don’t know Ron. Nor Hermione. Nor me, for that matter,” I add.

“And I don’t presume to, either,” he replies gently. When I continue to glare at him, he stretches out a pale, thin arm and pushes my hair off my face with warm fingers.

I lunge forward, kissing him hard, reaching down to fist his cock, not stopping until he’s breathless and hard and whimpering. Flipping him over and roughly yanking him onto all fours, I spare a couple of seconds only to lube up my cock before pushing into him all in one thrust.

I fuck him with hard, careless strokes, working out my sudden flare of irritation with the git, only until I’m suddenly aware of the absence of his usual, incredibly arousing moaning.

Ice water seems to flood my stomach and I pull out slowly, a strange sound rather like a muffled sob issuing from Malfoy when the head of my cock pops out of him. I feel a sudden urge to be sick when I take in the sight of him trembling before me, his face buried into his pillow, his hands, knuckles white, clutching desperately at the headboard.

“Malfoy,” I say, and my voice is hoarse. “Malf – Draco...?”

At my tentative use of his given name, Malfoy stirs slowly, moving only to turn his head and rest his cheek on the pillow, his eyes closed. I pick up my wand and twirling it, cast a strong healing charm, slowly running my finger tips along his crack, soothing my hands over his backside when he jerks under my touch.

Carefully, I reach for him, moving him around until he’s on his back again, with his arm thrown over his eyes, his cock limp between his legs. I simply sit there, looking at him, guilt burning through me like acid.

“I’m fine, Potter,” he says suddenly, startling me.

“Malfoy, I am so, so sorr-" I begin.

“I’m serious,” he interrupts. He moves his arm off his face and something clenches painfully inside me at his small smile. “I’m fine. Thanks for the healing charm.”

I slowly move over him and take his mouth into mine. He responds without hesitation, letting our tongues entwine, snaking his fingers into my hair, opening his mouth wide under mine. Desperately trying to convey to him how sorry I am, I hold him tight, pressing him to me, running my hand up his side, his skin like warm satin.

I pull back and look at him, he’s staring up at me, eyes clear of any form of resentment, his cheeks pink and his mouth wet.

“I’m really sorry,” I whisper. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“It’s my fault, really,” he says lightly, and I simply stare at him. “I shouldn’t have said those things about Weasley. Absolutely none of my business and –“

“What happened to you?” I interrupt, sounding almost accusatory. “The Malfoy I knew would have run to his father and try to have me sent to Azkaban or something.”

I bite my tongue the moment I see his amused expression fall at the mention of his father.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, feeling like I ought to stop speaking entirely. “I forgot... about your dad. I didn’t mean to... I forgot he’s...”

“In Azkaban himself?” he offers, in that same light, friendly tone again. “It’s alright, Potter. I try to forget sometimes too.”

“I didn’t mean to open up old wounds, Malfoy,” I say seriously.

“I know.” He actually seems to believe me as he brushes warm fingertips across my cheeks.

I almost can’t bear it. This is supposed to be my old Slytherin rival. Not this calm, soft spoken man who’s gently stroking my face two minutes after I’ve nearly torn him open.

This person is so much harder to hate. And I’m _supposed_ to hate Malfoy. How the fuck else am I supposed to limit this to just sex?

* * *

“Fuck buddies?” Pansy looks disgusted. “You and Potter are fuck buddies?”

“Well, can’t exactly call us ‘buddies’, can you?” I smile wryly, tucking my feet under me.

She simply looks at me, frozen halfway through mixing a pitcher of vodka martini.

“Draco, are you sure this is a good idea?” she asks seriously. “I mean... it can’t be healthy, not when you feel the way you do about him.”

I pretend like I don’t know what she’s talking about even as I feel a familiar rush of hopelessness coursing through me.

“Pansy, it’s all good, really,” I say, picking up the month’s copy of Witch Weekly off her coffee table. “You’re not looking at the bigger picture here.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Which is?” 

I grin. “I get to have sex with Harry Potter.” She doesn’t reply. She merely pours out two drinks and hands me mine with a couple of extra olives thrown in.

“Remind me,” she says suddenly, after we’ve sipped in silence for a few minutes, “How long have you been in love with him? How many years has it been now?”

I don’t even look up at her, merely picking out an olive and popping it in my mouth in silence.

“Draco, you’ve been in love with the man since you were fourteen,” she says exasperatedly.

“Fifteen!” I flare up at once.

“Fourteen – Yule Ball,” she reminds me smugly. And I’m suddenly taken back to the memory of him arm-in-arm with that Gryffindor girl he went with, his dark green robes falling magnificently around him, making his green eyes stand out from across the room.

“Oh, right.” I realise I sound quite dreamy and quickly snap out of it. “Your point?”

“Do you realise how difficult it will be for you once he’s bored of you and moves on to the next guy who catches his eye?” she asks angrily in one breath. “If the rumours about him are true, and judging from what you’ve told me, they seem to be, he isn’t going to be around for too long.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

“And you’re okay with that?” She sounds incredulous. “Draco, you are clearly still head-over-tits for him and you’re going to just let him come around whenever he feels like a fuck?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you letting him use you like this?”

“Because, at least for now, he’s... _with_ me.” The moment I’ve said the words, I want to throw up at how pathetic I sound.

“Draco...” Pansy sounds pained.

“Pans, seriously,” I say, stitching on a smirk. “If only I could convey to you just how good he is in bed, you’d be congratulating me for the arrangement we have going right now.”

She raises an eyebrow with that ‘don’t-bullshit-me’ expression.

“If he hurts you, Draco--" she starts.

“I know, I know!” I roll my eyes. “You’ll pull out his... whatever, some organ and feed it to... something repulsive. I know.”

“Good.”

Not that I’d ever admit it if Potter hurt me.

It’s disgusting, how consumed I am with the crass, obnoxious git. Nothing he does seems to help me shake off my stupid teenage boy crush.

Not him strolling into my house at all and any hour of the night; not when he wakes me after less than a couple of hours of sleep to stretch me with slick fingers until I’m wide awake and begging to be filled; not even that time when he nearly ripped me apart in a fit of pique like the rash Gryffindor he always has been, though ever since, he’s treated me like I’m a fucking glass doll, careful even as he roughs me up. Not even the fact that he’s never once invited or taken me over to his place, wherever it is.

Not even him disappearing, each and every single time, before I wake up, leaving the bed empty and cold next to me...

And yet, the next time he swoops out the Floo or arrogantly spells my front door open, walking in and stripping me naked like it’s his birthright, I know I’m not going to protest – I know I’ll simply reach for him and urge him to fuck me senseless.

Something he does thoroughly and efficiently each time.

I’m so in love with the prick, I can’t even bring myself to care that there is next to no chance of him feeling even remotely the same way about me.

Pansy may be right - I really ought to stop doing this to myself. I need to stop noticing the little things about him that I spend hours thinking about later – like the way he sleeps with his hands clasped together on the pillow above his head; or how he sometimes runs his finger up the bridge of his nose, probably a habit he hasn’t been able to shake off even after doing away with his glasses.

The way he pulls his clothes off – carelessly, lazily, all the while maintaining unwavering eye contact; the smell of his hair, citrusy and sweet; the way he smells after sex, the combined sharpness of cologne and tang of sweat, a heady scent that makes me bury my face in his neck, breathing him in like a lunatic.

I don’t quite know what I’ve gotten myself into. I should never have let him kiss me that night in the men’s room. I should have walked away the second he sat down next to me. I really need to work on my sense of self-preservation.

Maybe I ought to turn him out the next time he barges in; tell him I’m tired.

What are you, eighty, a voice in my head chides. Say you have a date!

Like he’s going to care, I argue. He’s clear this is just sex.

At least it sounds better than ‘I’m tired’!

Fine, I snap.

“Draco?”

“I said fine!” I repeat irritably.

“What?”

I look around. I’ve completely zoned out and Blaise is home and seated next to Pansy, looking rather frightened.

“Oh, hey.” I blink at him.

“Hello.” He tilts his head. “You alright?”

“Yes. Why? Yes.”

"Er... Great.” He falls silent. Pansy is scowling over at me and I scramble to get myself together.

Nobody can know the extent of my idiocy. I’m going to do something about this. I’m going to respect myself more. I’m going to turn Potter out next time.

Next time, as it happens, turns out to be two hours later when I get home and find him stretched out on my sofa, the fly of his jeans undone, one hand slowly stroking his erection.

My mouth goes dry. He’s shirtless and gleaming under a fine sheen of sweat, his hair falling into his eyes, his tongue darting out lazily to wet his lips.

“Potter,” I croak.

He grins. “Welcome home, dear.” I cannot look anywhere else but his cock, gorgeously turgid and leaking precome. “Care to join me?”

I simply stand there while a silent battle rages on inside me. Ideally, I ought to be turning him out right about now.

And yet, when he frowns slightly and gets to his feet to walk over to me, his gait like that of a jungle cat, I lean helplessly into his touch, not saying a word when he pulls me into a kiss before casually carrying me to bed.

* * *

“You want me to _what?!_ ”

“Please, Harry, I wouldn’t ask you unless I really, really needed you there, would I?”

“Hermione, no! What the hell?”

“Harry, it’s one small, stupid favour.”

“Small?!” My voice comes out a high pitched squeal. “You’re asking me to go with you on your date with what’s-his-name, how is that small _or_ stupid?”

“I don’t see why it’s worth all the fuss.” Hermione frowns as if _I’m_ the one making unreasonable requests. “It’s only a Quidditch match and dinner after.”

“Hermione,” I say with forced calm. “Why do you even need somebody to come along?”

“Because–” she pauses, and that’s when I note the worry in her eyes. “I’ve never really been on a date before.” She turns furiously pink and sits down heavily.

“What are you talking about?” I laugh. “Hermione, you and Ron have gone on plenty of-"

“That was me and Ron,” she interrupts in a low voice. “I knew the man for seven years before we started seeing each other. I’ve known Jared for barely two weeks.”

“And you’re worried that the rules of dating may have changed?” I snort.

“I’m worried that I don’t know how to be with another man.” She looks up at me and I see she’s nearly on the verge of tears. “It’s been ages since Ron and I broke up and I feel like I’ll never get ov--" She breaks off, looking away, swallowing hard and my heart breaks just a little. “I know I’m being a little silly-"

“No, you’re not,” I break in quietly. “I’ll go with you.”

“You will?” Her eyes are nearly brimming over now, even as she smiles a hopeful, watery smile at me that makes me go over and give her a firm kiss on the forehead.

“Yeah,” I say. “Let me size up this Jared guy myself." I punch a fist into my hand and she laughs, rolling her eyes.

“Men." She shakes her head.

“I’m going to be the third wheel,” I grumble.

She’s silent for a moment, then –

“Harry, you should definitely bring someone!” she says brightly.

“Who, Ron?” I ask, straight faced, and see her look away. “Sorry,” I hastily add.

“I know - bring Malfoy!” she says suddenly.

I simply give her an ‘are-you-serious’ look, even as my stomach knots up.

“What, why not?” She looks genuinely puzzled.

“Hermione, he’s not my... boyfriend,” I say, my throat going slightly dry on the word. “We’re just shagging.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t want to send any weird signals by asking him to go to a Quidditch match with me.” I shake my head. “That’s... second or third date stuff.”

She grins, and then quickly puts a hand over her mouth.

“Harry, you could explain the situation to him,” she says calmly. “I don’t mind if you tell him why you’re going with us. Just as long as he keeps his mouth in check.” She looks sideways at me. “And judging by what you’ve been telling me about him, he seems to have turned over a new leaf.”

I don’t answer her, simply staring at the floor as I consider it.

Malfoy and I have managed to keep it strictly physical so far and yet I find myself thinking about him even when I’m not with him more often than I care to admit.

The way he seems to light up when I go over to his place, putting down whatever book he’s reading and reaching for me eagerly.

Something funny happens inside of me each time that happens.

The way he arches under me as I fuck him deeper and deeper, gasping and shaking, pulling me closer, wrapping his long, pale limbs around me like he’s never going to let go...

And then the way he lies there after sex, his body seeming to melt into the mattress, a sated, blissful smile on his pale, pointy face before he catches me looking and quickly rearranges his features into something more Slytherin.

Not to mention how it seems tougher to leave each time with him lying there,  his thin, naked body curled up tightly as he sleeps, the moonlight filtering in through the sheer lace curtains falling in whorls on his flawless creamy white skin making it appear almost luminous.

I find myself watching him as I stand, fully dressed, at the foot of his bed, one part of me itching to get back in bed and gather him up against me, or maybe wake him up for another round.

I don’t though. I throw the covers over him and leave, gritting my teeth at my own disappointment.

Disappointment and... And something else.

And yet, I never permit myself to stay the night. I haven’t even brought him back to Ron and my place so far.

And now I’m to ask him to a game? Along with another couple no less.

It might be fun to ask him just to see how he takes it, says a snide voice in my head.

I shake my head. I really am an arsehole.

* * *

“Malfoy!” Potter’s voice carries clearly over the noisy crowd and I turn to find him waving me over, my heart skipping as usual at the sight of him.

“Hello.” I smile, feeling sick with nerves, wiping my sweaty palms on my sweater.

“Come on, those two are waiting for us,” he says, and takes my hand. I stumble over my feet as I follow him, caught off guard at his casual touch. We make our way through the crowd, Potter holding my hand tightly.

It’s just for Hermione, he’d said. She said I could invite you so I don’t feel like the odd one out.

He’d seemed very keen on establishing that this, on no accounts, was to be considered a date.

I’d agreed even as a voice that sounded like Pansy’s screeched in my head to turn him down.

I have next to no hope left with myself.

Potter leads me up to the top most level where he nods at a security wizard who nods back and opens the box door for us.

Granger looks around and gets to her feet when we enter.

“Hello, Malfoy,” she says, smiling a small but genuine smile as she holds out her hand. She is really rather pretty now, dressed in a simple, sleeveless knee length dress in a dark, burnt pink, her long hair pulled into a messy braid over one shoulder, some curly strands escaping to frame her delicate, heart shaped face.

I find myself smiling back and reaching out to shake her hand without second thought, and she seems rather surprised. “This is Jared.” She turns and her date gets to his feet as well, a tall, decent looking brunet. He’s dressed in a navy blue sweater, presumably to show his support for Puddlemere United.

“Draco Malfoy.” I nod, shaking his hand as well. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“Glad you could join us,” he says pleasantly. “Hermione says you guys are huge P.Uni fans too.”

“Er...” I glance at Harry who shrugs and grins and I find myself grinning right back.

“They’re starting, look.” Granger looks over my shoulder and I hurriedly take my seat next to Potter.

I’d already decided that the evening was going to be a total disaster and it turned out to be the exact opposite. The excitement of the semi-finals caught on and we all found ourselves cheering along rather enthusiastically, Jared whooping like a school boy when Puddlemere won by a hundred and fifty points, the Harpies fans’ boos drowned out as fans began bellowing along to Puddlemere’s anthem that was played overhead.

Granger is extremely decent company, not anything like the bookish, pedantic nag Pansy and I always assumed she was. I found myself engaged in near constant conversation with her throughout the evening and none of it felt forced at all. I saw Potter watching us with a rather shocked look on his face, and gave him a smirk a couple of times just to throw him a bit more.

For dinner, we end up at one of my favourite places, a gorgeous, swanky little French bistro in Diagon, where thanks to me being recognised as a regular, we don’t have to wait for a table.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” Granger says now, when we’ve been led to one of their prettier tables, in a corner next to the fairy light draped window that overlooks the winding alley.

“Helps to be a familiar face in these places,” I say shrugging.

“So what do you do?” Jared asks me, unfolding his napkin.

“I’m a currency analyst for Gringotts,” I answer, looking around at Potter’s soft sound of surprise. I raise an eyebrow in question, but he simply stares in silence before I realise that he probably didn’t know what I do, given that the bastard’s never actually asked me about myself.

“That sounds interesting,” Granger says, sounding genuinely curious, and I turn back to her.

“It really isn’t.” I purse my lips and they all laugh. “It pays the rent though.” I shrug.

“Like you even need to work.” Potter snorts. “The Malfoys are made of money,” he says by way of explanation to Jared who’s looking questioningly at him.

“Harry.” Granger frowns over at him even as I roll my eyes. The guy is _such_ a prick.

Serves me right for being in love with him in the first place.

Surprisingly though, Potter looks contrite.

“Sorry,” he says softly, nudging me with his elbow and then grinning at my apparent bewilderment.

Much food and wine later, I’m surprised at just how much I’ve enjoyed myself all evening. I didn’t even have to put to use the excuse Pansy had helped me come up with in case I needed to escape - that I have a headache the size of Hogwarts, that it was a chronic thing and that I need my prescription potions and a lie-down at once.

I suppress a snort as we head back out into the chilly alley, now not as crowded as it had been a few hours before. Jared is helping Granger with her coat and Potter is earnestly assuring the owner that we had a great time.

Granger and Jared step out together, hand in and hand and smiling, while Potter struts over to me, his hands stuffed into his pockets

“I hope you’re not _too_ tired,” he murmurs suggestively into my ear and I feel my face heat as I look away, shaking my head and ignoring his chuckle, glad when Granger says something, distracting him.

There is a sudden burst of music and chatter as someone exits the pub next door, and I freeze when I see a tall red head leading a voluptuous blonde out onto the cobbled alley, looking right at me, squinting in the semi darkness.

I turn and am at Potter’s side at once.

“Get Granger to Disapparate _now,_ ” I whisper urgently into Potter’s ear. He frowns down at me in confusion. “Weasley’s right behind us,” I inform him.

Looking horrified, and before I can tell him not to, he’s turned around.

“Harry?” I hear Weasley call out and watch as Granger’s eyes widen. She’s pressed into Jared who has an arm around her, and she looks like she just saw the Dark Lord rise from the dead.

Potter coughs awkwardly, walking forward. “Ron.” There’s no answer and when I turn around, Weasley is staring, first at me, and then past me at Granger and her date, his expression thunderous.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Granger says from behind me, her tone frosty and clipped.”It was great meeting you again, Malfoy,” she remembers to add.

“Take care, Granger,” I reply before nodding to Jared, who’s looking from Granger to Weasley, one eyebrow raised.

“Goodnight,” he says distractedly, and they Disapparate.

There’s a brittle silence.

“Who the fuck was that, Harry?” Weasley’s voice is low, dangerous.

“Ron, can we talk about this later?” Potter is looking over Ron’s shoulder at the blonde witch who’s looking curiously at the scene before her.

“No, we bloody well can’t,” Weasley snarls. “Explain to me why you and _he-"_  He throws me a filthy look that makes my lip curl defensively. “Are on a double fucking date with-" He abruptly breaks off. “You told me you’re going to the game with Hermione,” he says suddenly.

“We did go to the game,” Potter clarifies quietly. “We were here for dinner.”

“Oh, how fucking _cozy_ ,” Weasley spits. “Let me not interrupt any further plans you may have, then.” He turns around, taking his companion's hand again.

“Ron, wait.” Potter steps forward and grabs Weasley’s shoulder; the ginger git whirls around, shrugging him off violently, before giving Potter a sharp shove.

“Hey!” I walk forward angrily, holding up a hand.

“Shut the fuck up, filthy Death Eater scum,” Weasley shouts, drawing and pointing his wand at me, and I stumble back in shock. “I’ll hex you bald, I fucking swear I will.”

“Ron!” Potter forces Weasley’s wand down none too gently, giving him a shove of his own.

I feel like I’ve swallowed a bucket of Fire Crabs. It has been years since someone called me that - it certainly has the same effect even now though.

 My stomach full of burning, twisting knots, I simply stand there like a buffoon with nothing to say, fresh shame and familiar guilt flooding and burning through my veins as I watch Weasley grab hold of his girlfriend and turn on the spot, not sparing a second glance at Potter or me as he Disapparates.

* * *

Fucking hell. Did Ron _have_ to be here _tonight_ of all nights?

I turn to see Malfoy standing there, hugging himself as he shivers slightly. I feel desperately sorry for him all of sudden; he’d looked like Ron punched him in the gut as he nearly fell over backwards.

I have a sudden urge to follow Ron home and punch him in his stupid, drunk face.

Instead I go take Malfoy by the arm. “Hey,” I say softly. “I’m going to take you home, okay?”

He merely nods once, not looking at me.

I hold him tightly and turn, landing with a slight jerk outside his front door. Mutely I undo the protective enchantments and lead us in. Malfoy stumbles forward, shrugging off his coat, kicking off his shoes, not bothering to turn on any lights, disappearing into the dark house. I lock up and follow him, finally finding him sitting on his bed, his socked feet dangling a few inches off the floor, looking more than anything else like a small child as he stares at the rug next to the bed.

“Malfoy." I sit down next to him and take his hand, feeling absurdly helpless. I would undress and fuck him into feeling better but something tells me that wouldn’t be welcome right now.

“Malfoy, listen...” I squeeze his hand – he’s freezing. I move closer to him. “I know you don’t want to hear this but Ron really didn’t mean it.”

He doesn’t react; he doesn’t even blink, just continues staring at the floor.

“It’s my fault. I don’t know why I lied to Ron – I ought to have just told him the truth. But I was afraid of his reaction, he’s always been the jealous type...”

Still nothing, I don’t even know if he’s listening to me.

“I wish Hermione and he would just work things out, this is fucking ridiculous.” I’m suddenly furious at the pair of them. “They’re clearly not over each other; they still love one another – fucking idiots.” I look at Malfoy, desperate for some sort of reaction.

“Ron didn’t mean it, Malfoy,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry he called you that.”

“He’s right, you know,” Malfoy speaks so softly I wouldn’t have heard him over the sound of my own voice had I still been talking.

“He’s not, Malfoy, don’t say that,” I snap. “Come on, all that was years ago. It’s all in the past – let’s leave it there.”

“I _am_ filthy Death Eater scum,” he whispers, rolling up his sleeve and holding out his left arm, the Dark Mark looking up stupidly at us. And then my heart seems to stop at the sight of the tear rolling down his cheek, his eyes cold and almost lifeless.

“Malfoy, no!”

Not knowing what else to do, I crush him to me. I have my arms around his quaking body and I’m holding him tighter than I’ve ever held anyone before. I lift him onto my lap, sitting him down sideways on one thigh, and cradle him as he tucks his head into the crook of my shoulder, his knees coming up to rest against my chest.

I don’t know how long we sit like that, me holding him in a fierce grip, gently rocking back and forth, all the while repeating on loop, “You’re not scum. You’re not a Death Eater anymore. You never were, you couldn’t help what you did; you couldn’t help any of it. You’re not filthy Death Eater scum. You’re not.”

I don’t know why I can’t bear the sight of him like that – anguished... broken. I need him to be himself again, snarky, blushing and scowling at the tiniest provocation.

I’d expected him to be a real fright today, quiet and sullen, probably biting back a dozen insults per minute.

But he’d been unbelievable, charming and polite - getting on with Hermione like a house on fire. It’s almost like he’d never spat at her about her dirty blood all those years back.

It had seemed nearly effortless, the way he’d conducted himself. He had perfect manners of course, darting ahead to open doors for Hermione when Jared didn’t, greeting the staff at that restaurant kindly and remembering to thank them after the meal.

I had never thought he had this side – I barely know the guy I’ve been fucking all this time.

I hadn’t even thought to ask what he did for a living, and judging by the way he’d looking at me at dinner, he’d known what I was thinking, known I felt guilty.

I feel like the true creep that I am as I sit there holding him, before I realise that I’m berating myself over Malfoy, of all people.

Fuck, I need a really stiff drink so I can stop bloody thinking.

I don’t know how long it takes, but we’ve been sitting in silence for a long time before he’s slowly stirring in my arms, taking in a long breath before leaning back to look up at my face. My heart skips at his expression – so fucking open.

And then he smiles a small, tentative smile and I’m torn between wanting to fuck him raw and turning tail and fleeing the fuck out of here before he can make my heart stop entirely.

He makes the decision for me though, turning and sitting up straight to wrap his legs around me, his fingers slowly brushing across my face before he leans in and kisses me deeply.

I’m patient tonight – something I never am when it comes to him.

I strip him garment by garment, running my hands over every last inch of his spotless, milky white skin as he sighs below me.

I lick along the crease between thigh and groin and he moans softly, his hands fluttering over my head, crying out when I take his smooth balls in my mouth. I weigh them on my tongue before releasing them to lick slowly up the underside of his lovely, leaking cock, earning a buck of his hips coupled with a sob.

Hooking my hands under his legs, I raise them until I’m holding his knees pressed to the bed on either side of his chest, his tightly furled, pink arsehole moist, glistening and twitching at me invitingly.

When I lean forward and take a long, leisurely suckle at it, Malfoy clutches at my hair, letting out a beautiful, helpless cry that, along with the taste of him, makes my cock beg painfully for some attention.

“Please,” he whispers, quivering under me.

“Sssshh.” I kiss his thigh before going back to his arsehole. I lick hard, repeatedly, before I push my tongue into him, earning a keening moan. He tastes incredible and my head spins as I dive forward without stopping for breath, licking him up, tasting him on the inside.

He’s shaking violently under me now, every breath coming out in a moan, his hands alternating between tearing at the sheets and tugging my hair. I lick incessantly until his rim is wet and loose and clenching.

When I feel my cock twitch yet again at the way his arse clutches my tongue, trying to hold it in, I pull back and lean over him, releasing his legs.

He’s reaching for me, looking desperate, his fine hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasps for air.

“Fuck, look at you,” I murmur, committing to memory the sight of him like this, his guard down, no sneer or smirk on his face, his eyes wide and begging.

He bucks slightly, shutting his eyes and pressing his cheek into the pillow. I conjure lube, slick my fingers and lean over to run my tongue along his neck all in two seconds.

“Malfoy,” I whisper, my breath ruffling his hair. His lashes flutter as he slowly opens his eyes, turning his face to look at me. I lean in and he immediately reaches up to kiss me, his mouth falling open, his tongue lifting to stroke mine.

I push the tip of one finger into him and he clutches me tighter to him, blunt nails digging into my back. Slowly, steadily I push the whole finger in, not releasing his mouth, muffling and drinking up his moans.

I pump in and out of him, curling my finger slowly, before gently adding a second finger.

Malfoy lets out a hoarse cry, bucking his hips up in time with my fingers.

I don’t know what keeps me going, probably the sight of him so fucking beautiful and perfect and desperate beneath me, but I finger him for so long that he begins to clench rhythmically around my fingers, thrashing wildly, clawing at my shoulders, before I realise he’s too close to the edge, and stop.

He howls when I pull my fingers out, his eyes squeezed shut, his head thrown back at a bizarre angle. I lick up his neck, across his shoulders and back up his neck, sucking along his jaw before biting hard over his jugular.

He screams again, his hands pressing my head into his neck and I lick over the spot before sucking at it, the skin there instantly standing out in vivid purple and red.

“Please, I c-can’t– I don’t-" he seems out of words as I oblige, slicking up and lining my cock to his entrance, whispering to him to be ready and kissing him hard once more.

Kissing me back fervently, he brings his legs up to wrap themselves firmly around me, his heels pressing into the small of my back.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, gritting my teeth until my head throbs, I push into him. He’s as tight as he was on the night I first fucked him; no amount of stretching feels sufficient to me and after hurting him that once, I’m now paranoid enough to be extremely careful with him.

Malfoy bucks impatiently under me causing me to slip in some more, both of us hissing at the sensation.

“Stop that, I don’t want to hurt you!” I snap through clenched teeth, my voice a feral growl.

“Come _on_!” Malfoy grits, grabbing my arse and pulling while raising himself up and then, I’m buried inside him to the hilt, groaning into his neck, his moan making me break out in gooseflesh.

I lean back to look at him to find him panting with his eyes closed, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. Pulling nearly all the way out, I thrust back in, and he gasps, his lips stretching into a smile that leaves me breathless.

“Look at me, Malfoy.”

His eyes fly open, his hands coming up to comb through my hair. “Harry,” he whispers. It’s the first time he’s called me that and it absolutely shouldn’t have this effect on me. I feel helpless as I look at him, his eyes shining and his little smile taking my breath away, and suddenly I feel something break free in my chest.

Unable to take the sight of him looking at me like that, I quickly kiss him, not relenting as I start thrusting, changing angles until–

“Fuck!” He bucks wildly and his nails scratch down my back as the familiar sense of triumph floods me. "Again!"

Steadily, unhurriedly, I pump in and out of him, keeping him on the edge, slowing and nearly stopping whenever I feel the tell-tale clutching of his arse, determinedly ignoring his pleas. He throws his head from side to side, crying out desperately, his lips red and swollen and his whole torso blushing pink.

I lean over him, smoothing his hair off his face.

“Beautiful,” I murmur into his jaw, watching as he meets my gaze and blushes even deeper. He leans up to kiss me, hard and desperate. “Fucking perfect git.” I kiss him back before I shift and kiss the love bite I’ve left on his swan like neck.

“Harry,” he breathes. “Please, Harry.”

“Draco,” I say it slowly against his trembling lips. He sobs, his legs tightening around me.

“Fuck me, Harry,” he whispers as he licks under my ear and I break out into full fledged shuddering, my cock twitching urgently inside him.

Hooking my arms under his knees, I lift his legs up and begin pounding into him, much to his evident satisfaction. He claws at the sheets, his hands slipping on my sweaty shoulders as he tries to pull me closer, his moans loud in my ear.

The bed creaks under us, slamming into the wall with each hard thrust, and Malfoy arches beautifully under me, his cock spurting pearly white come across his chest and shoulders, his hoarse cry nearly musical.

I’m lifting him right off the bed with every thrust now, my cock landing right on his prostate each time, judging by his continued urging interspersed with soft gasps. His legs tremble in my grasp as with several more furious stabs into him, I’m coming gloriously hard. The edges of my vision go white and I’m vaguely aware of letting go entirely, screaming my orgasm, the image of his blissful expression bursting behind my closed eyes even as my heart sinks, realisation flooding me.

~

I wake up with my arms full of a soft, fast asleep Draco Malfoy, his warm breath huffing against me, his nose pressed into my chest, his hands fisted under his chin. I have one leg around him, pinning him to myself. His hair tickles my chin, and I lower my head to smell it, the sweet scent filling my nose before I realise what I’m doing and jerk away.

I realise with further mounting horror that it’s light outside, the bright sunlight signalling late morning. My heart jumps to my throat as I recall the last thought that crossed my head before I fell asleep.

I’m dangerously close to falling completely in love with the man whom I’m technically supposed to detest, and know that I need to stop seeing him if I want to keep my sanity and my pride intact.

I shift, intentionally pulling away quickly so as to wake him up.

Malfoy stirs, inhaling deeply before turning onto his back, slowly opening his eyes, turning to look at me, and smiling a smile that makes my stomach drop.

“Hi.” I sound stiff to my own ears. Malfoy however, grazes my cheek with the back of his hand, his smile only widening.

“You stayed,” he says softly, and I’m suddenly sitting bolt upright, swinging my legs off the bed and picking my jeans up.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say shortly, pulling on my jeans and hurriedly grabbing my t-shirt and jacket off the foot of the bed.

“That’s not what I – you don’t have to leave.” I hear the soft rustle of skin on sheets as I pull on the rest of my clothes.

“Yes, I do,” I answer, shoving my feet into my boots, not bothering to lace them up as I head to the door.

“Harry.”

I freeze in place. He really should stick to ‘Potter’.

I turn around to see him sitting up, gloriously naked, his hair wildly messy, pink, kiss-bitten lips wet, the purpled, painful looking love bite on the crook of his neck standing out clearly against his ivory skin – he looks thoroughly debauched and utterly gorgeous.

“Look, Malfoy.” My throat is dry and never before has it been so hard to get words out. “I told you, I don’t do morning-afters. I just don’t.”

He’s silent, his expression one that makes me want to punch something.

He finally speaks after a long pause, his voice soft – exhausted. “Then I can’t do this anymore.” 

Relief washes over me before a more powerful wave of something stronger hits me with enough force that I’m nearly brought to my knees. I grit my teeth, standing up straight, my whole body seeming to fill up with an odd mixture of dread and resignation.

“It’s not like I promised you anything, Malfoy,” I force out, just to make this more convincing.

“I know you didn’t.” He’s talking to his knees now, softly, sans any malice. “But I still can’t do this any longer.”

I stand there, drinking him in, all sharp angles and warm flesh and soft skin.

“If that’s how you feel-"

“It is.”

“Fine.”

Neither of us moves.

“Goodbye, Harry.” He slips out of bed, naked, sore – utterly perfect. Without glancing back at me, he limps into the en suite, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click.

* * *

“You’ve been engaged for three months, and it only occurs to you _now_ to buy Pansy an engagement present?” I shift the huge bouquet Blaise just bought for his fiancée to my other arm, the scent of freesias, lilies and roses drifting tantalisingly around us, the glossy ribbon shifting from pink to mauve to yellow to crimson before switching back to pink again, the tightly curled strands getting entangled in my fingers.

“I’ve been meaning to do this forever, I just didn’t get the time,” Blaise grumbles, pausing outside a jewellery store to peer at a set of stunning pearl and ruby hair combs displayed in the window.

“Oh, she’d love those.” I step closer, noting the detailed filigree work that the gems are set into. “Unless you want to keep looking,” I add.

Blaise doesn’t answer and I turn to find him looking at me with a funny expression.

“What?” I ask self-consciously.

“How are you, Draco?” he asks seriously.

“Is that why you asked me to go with you?” I scowl even as there’s a familiar stab inside me. “Is this just a excuse you cooked up with Pansy to get me out of the house?”

“No!” He frowns. “I just have to know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine!” I snap.

He doesn’t react, merely sighing through his nose and scrutinising me carefully.

It’s been nearly a month now since I successfully asked Potter to fuck off.

Alright, I didn’t really say that to him.

I’d simply excused myself from the arrangement between Potter and me and though it still hurts like a spiteful fucking bitch, I can say I’m truly proud of myself.

So was Pansy, when I told her. She’d found me in bed after I hadn’t answered or returned any of her calls, and knew with just one look at me.

“We always knew, you know,” Blaise says now softly. “Since school.”

“Knew what?”

“How you felt about Potter,” he says meaningfully.

“Yeah, well.” I shrug. “Didn’t make a difference, did it?”

“Maybe if you’d told him-"

“And lost whatever little shred of dignity I had left?” I sound rather fierce and quickly take a deep breath. “It wouldn’t have mattered, Blaise.”

“Fucking prick,” he mutters angrily, looking away and back at the hair combs.

“It’s not really his fault,” I say lightly. “He did warn me beforehand that it would lead nowhere further than a physical thing.”

“You should have gotten out sooner, Draco.” Blaise looks disturbed.

“You sound like Pansy,” I say irritably.

Pansy, never the one to miss out on a chance to say ‘I-told-you-so’, had wasted no time in informing me that I’ve let down every proud Slytherin by letting a Gryffindor bastard like Harry Potter so deep under my skin.

“Anyway, it’s over now,” she’d said firmly, setting a cup of tea before me rather forcefully. “Drink that, take a shower and we’ll go get lunch at that place you love in Diagon.

“I can’t go back there,” I’d croaked pathetically, warming my hands on the cup.

Nothing had failed to remind me of Harry – nearly every flat surface in my house reminded me of him – he’d fucked me all over the place; my bed still smelt of him and two days after he left, I’d found his belt under my bed.

He’d used it to tie my hands together once. I’d been thrashing around, pushing and pulling at him desperately as he’d expertly eaten my arse out, and finally, fed up, he’d wound the length of black leather around my wrists and flicked his wand so my hands were dragged up and held above my head so he could continue, unhindered, to reduce me to a babbling, incoherent mess.

I’d kept the belt, hiding it in my wardrobe so Pansy couldn’t find it and burn it.

I allowed myself those first few days to mourn what had almost been – it had _almost_ been something after all.

That last night with him had been... different.

He’d touched me and kissed me and fucked me as he usually did – thorough, almost methodical, relentless, rough and tender all at once.

It was the way he looked at me that made my breath catch and heart flutter like a hopeless little teen’s – bright green eyes blazing, huge black pupils threatening to swallow me up, his expression open... almost loving.

 _Loving_...

And then he’d left.

I’d lain in bed for hours, not eating, unable to fall asleep, that expression swimming before me as if he were still there, braced over me, fucking me with those deep, _slow_ thrusts, torturing me into having possibly the best orgasm I have ever experienced, and that’s something considering the fact that each and every orgasm he had given me in the past had been mind-alteringly, heart stoppingly _brilliant_.

Every time the Floo rang, I’d rushed into the living room, hoping it was him - but it had only been Pansy, and so I’d simply gone back to bed, Floo still ringing, finally downing a double dose of Dreamless Sleep and sleeping for seventeen hours straight, until Pansy found me the next evening and cast a panicked _Ennervate_ on me when I hadn’t woken, causing me to wake up with a loudly gasped ‘Harry’.

She’d glared disapprovingly at me for that, pursing her lips and guessing instantly, from my hideous appearance, what had taken place.

So with Pansy at my side, I’d mourned the loss of the relationship that nearly-was with the man I’ve loved for what feels like forever.

But then I went back to work, throwing myself into the monotony of my daily routine with renewed vigour, determined to be okay – I’d lost too much thanks to my lack of self-respect already.

And as Pansy put it, I’ve had my fill of Potter cock, now I ought to work towards finally moving on.

“You did the right thing,” Blaise says now, and I start slightly, my eyes shifting to his reflection in the shop window, standing next to me. “The brave thing,” he adds.

I turn to look at him, smiling wryly despite myself – it does take a certain amount of bravery to deny yourself what you crave most, I suppose. It does take bravery to stand up for yourself – for what’s right.

Neville Longbottom proved that when we were eleven.

Blaise smiles back, and looking extremely awkward, shuffles forward and wraps an arm around me.

I laugh, pressing my cheek to his shoulder, shifting the bouquet so it doesn’t get crushed between us.

And then I freeze.

Harry Potter is standing and watching me from across the street, his green eyes wide as he looks at me, his jaw clenched. Blaise releases me, completely unaware, saying something. I don’t hear what and the next second, he makes his way inside the jewellery store, leaving me standing there rooted and looking back at Potter, my heart thumping painfully, even as something pierces through it.

Other shoppers bustle by as we stand across from each other, and I wonder why everybody isn’t stopping everything they are doing – the moment feels like they ought to.

A moment that seems to go on and on, where all I do is hungrily take in the sight of him, wishing I could cross the street and kiss him.

But then I force my feet off the cobble stones, turn and with a last glance at his strangely furious expression, I follow Blaise into the store.

* * *

I don’t remember having Apparated home. I come around and realise I’m in the living room, staring blankly at the coffee table. And then I hear the moaning and rhythmic thuds of wood-against-wall emanating from Ron’s room, turn on the spot and get the fuck out once more.

I land in Hermione’s kitchen, stumbling slightly at the force with which I hit the floor. I lunge forward and start throwing open cabinets until I find a bottle of Ogden’s and march into the living room only to stop short at the sight of Hermione.

She’s curled up in her armchair by the fire, a bottle of wine in her lap and another empty one flat on the floor, dripping onto the carpet. Her hair is up in a huge pile on her head, some of it escaping in long strands around her face.

“Hermione?”

She looks up, eyes bloodshot, nose pink and cheeks tear stained.

“Harry.”

“’Mione, what the fuck happened?” I slowly walk forward.

She simply looks at me, expressionless, before taking a long swig of wine.

“You’re a damn fool, Harry Potter,” she informs me finally, looking half a foot to my right somewhere.

“You’re worrying me,” I say after considering for a moment.

“Does Ron worry you?” she asks suddenly, looking right at me now.

“What?”

“Ronald Weasley,” she says loudly, slurring ever so slightly. “The man who now fucks anything that is female.” She snorts, wipes her nose and gulps some more wine. “The man who I apparently can’t forget long enough to be with another man.” She raises the bottle of wine and then drains it, some of it dribbling down her neck.

“Is everything okay with Jared?” I ask, putting down the whiskey and slowly approaching her.

“Jared?” She smiles at me now. “Oh Jared and I broke up,” she says airily.

“What happened?” I step closer.

“Ron,” she whispers to her knees.

“Ron?”

“I wouldn’t let him fuck me.”

“Who, Ron?”

“Jared!” she bursts out suddenly, her eyes brimming, the tears gleaming in the firelight.

“...‘Mione.” I kneel down in front of her, reach for her hand and squeeze.

“He’s still in my head,” she sobs, her voice rising. “He broke my heart – broke _me_! And he still won’t leave!” She’s shaking visibly now, tears streaming down her beautiful face, her expression one of sheer anguish.

“Ron didn’t mean to-"

“Don’t you dare stand up for him, Harry!” she screams. “Please, for once, could you not?”

“I’m not,” I tell her. I pause. “He still loves you”.

She looks down at me, hiccupping softly, chest rising and falling.

“He does not.”

“He never stopped.”

“He’s fucked a hundred girls since we broke up.”

“Have you met Ron? Don’t you see why he’d do that?”

“Oh that’s convenient, maybe I’ll go fuck a few dozen men to get over him too – oh wait, I couldn’t let the guy I was seeing get to third base even!”

She glares down at me, wipes her nose again and then leans back with a huff.

“We really fucked up, didn’t we,” she rambles on, fresh tears falling down her cheeks. “Ron and I”.

“How do you mean?” I reach out and smooth some hair off her face.

“Spent all those years in love with each other, and then finally get together only to break up like a pair of wimps because we couldn’t balance a few other things with our relationship.” She talks without drawing breath, words flowing smooth and without pause.

I just look at her, her own gaze unwavering as she looks at me.

“It’s not over between you two,” I say softly. “You know as well as I do”.

She shakes her head slowly.

“You both love each other,” I say irritably. “Are you going to let go just like that?”

“You did.”

“What?” I ask after a pause.

“You’re a damn fool.”

“What did I let go of?” I suddenly feel the urge to cough, my heart is thudding right up in my throat.

“Not what – whom.”

“Whom did I let go of?” I don’t want to hear her answer.

“Draco Malfoy.”

“You’re being absurd.”

“Why?”

“Comparing Ron and you to Malfoy and me.”

“Love is love.”

“I don’t love Malfoy, ‘Mione, come on,” I snap, getting to my feet.

“You’re too much of an arsehole to realise it yourself, but yes, you do.” She watches as I take a long swig of whiskey. “Give me some of that, won’t you?”

“You’ve had enough obviously,” I say. “You won’t be spouting this bilge if you weren’t smashed beyond recovery.”

“It’s not bilge,” she snaps springing to her feet. “You both are obviously head-over-heels for one another and are too shit-headed to just accept it.”

“Oh so he’s in love with me too, is he?”

She sighs. “Oh, Harry.”

“What?” I say harshly.

“I saw how he looked at you.” She looks at me with what can only be pity. “I saw how you looked at _him_. I doubt you were even aware you were looking at him the way you did.”

“Please, Hermione.” I can feel the beginnings of a stress headache now.

“Don’t be a coward,” she says pointedly.                       

“A coward?” I feel my eyes bulging and I’m yelling slightly now, can’t help but. She’s being beyond ridiculous, the things she’s saying.

They _are_ ridiculous right?

“Yes!” she screams right back. “You’ve been on this fuck-rampage so long that it frightens you when someone begins to mean more to you,” she points out. “You’ve managed to keep all your partners at bay but someone managed to slip through and who – Draco Malfoy. Of all the people you could have fallen for you fell for him, and that-"

“Will you shut it, please?” I sound weary to myself – old.

“And that frightens you,” she presses on, walking upto me. “You’ve fallen for him without even realising it and it terrified you into ending things with him.”

We glare at each other, Hermione slightly out of breath, swaying a little on the spot, me trying my level best to not acknowledge the sharp twinge in my chest at the memory of Malfoy.

Finally I sigh, and collapse onto the sofa, gulping a huge swig of whiskey. Hermione tuts softly and ambles unsteadily over to me, lifting my feet and placing it on her lap as sits down cross legged, leaning back against the arm rest.

She simply stares blearily at me, sniffling a little, blinking slowly, and I stare back, letting the slow fuzz from the whiskey start to spread.

“He’s seeing someone else now,” I say suddenly, surprising myself. “Malfoy.”

Damn whiskey.

“What?” She looks startled, as though Malfoy wasn’t allowed to move on from whatever the fuck he and I had going. “How do you know?”

“Saw him,” I mumble, drinking some more. “Just now, before I got here.”

“Where?”

“Diagon Alley. He was hugging the guy outside... outside a jewellery store. He was holding an enormous fucking bunch of flowers and all.”

Hermione’s mouth is slightly open as she looks at me in silence.

“Won’t you ask who the guy was?” I nudge her with a toe.

“Who?”

“Blaise Zabini.”

Hermione’s eyes widen and she snorts. And then she’s laughing helplessly, clutching my foot as she bends forward, her eyes streaming again.

“What the fuck?” I slur.

“Blaise Zabini,” she heaves.

I scowl, my temper suddenly flaring and wait, gritting my teeth until she’s finally taking huge breaths, calming herself.

“Blaise Zabini is not gay,” she tells me, her mouth still quivering. “Also, he’s engaged to Pansy Parkinson.”

“No he’s not,” I retort automatically, my heart skipping a beat.

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t you ever read Witch Weekly, they had 3 inches in there about her stupid engagement ring.”

“No they didn’t,” I say stupidly. I honestly cannot fathom the immense sense of relief I feel. Why am I relieved? Malfoy and I are done anyway, right?

“They announced their engagement in the Prophet!” She grins. “It’s been over three months now. Honestly, Harry”.

“He’s not seeing Blaise Zabini?” I ask stupidly. She shakes her head, grinning at me like I’m the biggest idiot she’s known.

Well, at least I got her to stop crying.

~

The next morning, I stumble out of my room, barely managing to reach the sofa before sinking onto it, clutching my head that feels like a bomb about to go off.

I groan, feeling a fresh wave of nausea rise up and hurriedly stick out my hand toward the kitchen, grabbing the slim vial of Hangover Potion as it zooms a little too enthusiastically at me.

I’m still hacking over the potion when there’s an enraged cry from Ron’s room and the door flies open. The blonde witch (the fuck’s her name, again?) storms out, her dress unzipped, her bra dangling from her arm, her heels and purse clutched in one hand, her hair a blonde mess.

“Amber, for Merlin’s sake.” Ron follows her out, pulling on a pair of jeans, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“No!” she shrieks, turning around to glare at him. “It was alright the first time, even the second. What the fuck’s your excuse now, Ronny?”

I snort at the nickname and both of them turn to look at me. I raise my eyebrows, looking away with my hands raised.

“Look, I was okay with the sex-only thing, alright?” Amber hops on the spot as she puts her shoes back on. “I really was, I’m not the kind of girl who insists on labelling everything.” She pauses, gathering her hair into a tight bun. “But if you’re expecting me to be okay with you referring to me by your ex-girlfriend’s name every time you’re drunk or half asleep, that’s _not_ going to happen!” She holds up a finger, looking fierce as fuck.

Ron sighs and rolls his eyes.

“You know what,” he says in a bored voice. “Whatever alright, I’ll see you around.” He throws himself down next to me, putting up his feet on the coffee table.

“I’d rather not, thanks,” she retorts, picking up some Floo powder. “Do yourself, and everyone else, a favour, and just fucking call her.”

“Mind your own business,” Ron bellows at her, instantly pissed off.

“Coward!” she screams back, disappearing in a burst of green flames.

“Bitch.” He grits his teeth before leaning back forcefully. There’s a long silence, during which the clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly and I stare blearily at the carpet. Then, “So, you look like shit,” he tells me conversationally.

“Fuck off.” I scowl.

He frowns. “The fuck happened to you?” 

“Hermione,” I grunt. A pause.

“Excuse me?” Ron raises an eyebrow, looking at me sideways.

“The woman _you’re_ still in love with,” I say pointedly. “Thinks I’m in love with Malfoy.”

Ron looks like he’s about to burst a vein. He looks at me, eyes bulging, not knowing which part of my statement to respond to.

“Still in love with-" he blusters. “ _Draco_ Malfoy?!”

“No, incidentally, she meant his father.”

Ron continues to just gape at me.

“And I think she may be right,” I finally admit, brooding.

Ron jumps to his feet, his hands out in a ‘what the fuck, mate?’ gesture.

“I know.” I lean back and slap my hands over my face.

“You’re actually in _love_ with him?!” he squeaks.

“Might just be,” I say from behind my hands. “I mean yes, I am.”

“I’m not still in love with her.”

I snort loudly.

“I’m not, you bastard,” Ron snaps.

“Your fly is undone,” I say, bored, letting my hands fall into my lap.

Ron doesn’t even bother looking down or responding. He just glares at me, his hands on his hips.

“Been talking to her about me, have you?” he suddenly asks, looking furious. “Been having cozy chats about me, and bitching and laughing?”

“Would you grow up?” I snap. “We weren’t bitching about you. I went over to hers yesterday and she was a wreck, alright? Like, drunk-and-crying level wreck,” I pause as Ron suddenly looks almost frightened. “She was alright though, she snapped out of it really quickly. Enough to laugh in my face about the whole Malfoy thing,” I add bitterly.

“Why was she crying?” Ron asks quietly.

“She broke up with Jared.”

“The Quidditch match guy?”

“Yeah.”

“I see.” Ron narrows his eyes. “So she was that into him, huh,” he says casually, hand combing his hair, a mixture of jealousy and relief clear on his face.

“I dunno.” I shrug. “She was mostly crying ‘cause she isn’t over you and that sort of made things difficult for her.”

Ron stares at me fixedly, his expression curiously blank.

“Difficult, how?”

I sigh. “She couldn’t... She was unable to get– physical,” I finally say, awkwardly, “with him.”

Ron doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then he snorts.

“He probably didn’t even know what he was doing,” he says, trying his best to be casual and brush the whole thing off.

I’m not having it.

“You need to grow a pair of balls, mate,” I say nastily. “Seeing as you don’t seem to have a pair already.” He doesn’t reply, simply looks at me, waiting for me to go on. “For god’s sake, go get her back, you fucking _moron_ ,” I explode. “Get Hermione back! You both still love each other and neither of you is ever going to be happy without the other so for god’s sake, pull your head out of your arse and _go get her back_!”

“Why the hell should _I_ go fir-?!"

“Because _you_ broke up with _her!_ ” I yell. There’s a dull pang in my forehead, my headache threatening to return. I sigh, rubbing at my temple. “Please stop being a moron, I don’t have the energy for this,” I say weakly. “I have my own shit to deal with.”

As if on cue, there’s a loud rap at the door and Ron and I exchange looks of bewilderment. Nobody who visits us ever uses the front door. Ron strides over, opens the door and peers out before throwing me a look that’s part nauseated, part horror and part amusement.

He lets the door swing open and there stands Pansy Parkinson, clad in a deep burgundy dress and the haughtiest expression I’ve ever seen. Her lips are painted to match her short, flared-skirt dress, a pair of sunglasses rests atop her head, a giant handbag hangs off her arm and her black heels look sharp enough to stab somebody with.

She walks in, throwing a contemptuous look around the room before her eyes land on the half-naked Ron, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead.

“Weasley,” she says, surprisingly polite. “Would you mind giving us a moment, please?”

Ron looks flabbergasted.

“Be a darling now.” She flaps her hands at him, inch long nails, painted deep violet, glinting in the light. “Hurry along.”

Ron throws looks at me with his mouth slightly open and I think my expression just about mirrors his. I shrug and he shrugs back, backing away slowly to his room.

“Oh, and do up your fly, love,” Pansy calls out just as he’s shutting the door. The door snaps shut just as Ron swears loudly.

Pansy grins. “If only I’d met him a few months ago,” she says wistfully. “Wow!” She looks at me. “Well, I suppose, Granger’s one lucky woman.” Putting her handbag down, she perches daintily on the edge of the sofa chair, tucking one ankle behind the other, her hands clasped neatly around one knee, a diamond the size of a Quaffle glinting on her finger. “So, long time, Potter. How are you?”

I stare in silence for a few more seconds, suddenly wondering if I’m still asleep.

She sniffs. “It’s rude to stare.” 

“What do you want?” I ask hoarsely. She raises her eyebrows again and then shakes her head, muttering about ill-bred half-wits.

“I want to talk to you,” she says then.

“About what,” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Draco,” she says pointedly, knowing that I know her answer.

“What about him?" My tone is a little too harsh; I quickly look down at my hands so I don’t have to look at her glare icily at me.

“What about him?” she repeats dangerously. “What _about_ him?”

“I just meant-" I mumble.

“You’re an even bigger arsehole than Draco let on!” she bursts out. “Do you know what he’s been like since you broke his heart like it was nothing?”

I don’t want to hear any of this, I just want to go back to bed and pretend that none of this is happening.

“ _He_ wanted to end things, not me,” I say weakly instead.

She laughs, a harsh, derisive sound.

“Oh you _are_ an idiot,” she says like she knew it all along. “You’re a fucking heartless, arrogant, philandering bastard.”

She’s right, I am.

“Why is he so insanely in love with you?” she asks accusingly, and I nearly fall off the sofa in shock. “What the hell does he see in you, Potter? What about you has him walking around like he’s dead on the inside, even a _month_ later?”

I think I need another Hangover Potion if I want to avoid throwing up. My heart is racing so fast I feel like it’s going to break out of me, and my mouth feels like sawdust. Draco Malfoy _loves me_?

“Do you know what the war did to him?” She sounds disturbed, her voice low and pained. “Or did you fail to notice that he’s not even close to the person he was at one time?”

I look at her, and think back to all those times he behaved like a completely different person, the ready smiles and the soft touches and the easy forgiveness, the unusual lack of malevolence. Of course I noticed, I want to tell her. It’s what frightened the hell out of me.

“He’s broken,” she murmurs. “He has been since the war. He’s got absolutely no confidence left whatsoever, and still believes that he deserves to be punished for his past. He’s come apart at the seams and no matter what we tried, he was never truly whole again.” She looks close to tears. “I hadn’t seen him truly happy until _you_ came along.” She looks at me like I’m something vile. “He’s been in love with you for _years,_ it’s fucking _ridiculous_ ,” she spits. “And for what? What good came from it, Potter? What did you give him except more pain? He’s barely himself anymore.”

I want to tell her to stop saying that, to stop saying that he loves me.

“I’m sorry,” I croak instead. “I’m sorry, look, I... I’m sorry.”

She looks taken aback. Clearly she hadn’t expected me to take heed of anything she said. And then she frowns, her lip curling.

“You’re sorry?” she repeats scornfully. “That’s it?” She rolls her eyes. “Wow.”

“He really loves me?” I ask, and she looks repulsed. “Since when?”

“School,” she says shortly, and I want to laugh. How is that even possible? “You don’t believe me,” she says, doesn’t ask.

“How can he possibly-?" I start to say.

“Search me!” She throws her hands up. “I’ve been asking him to get over you for ages now.”

I frown. She throws me a challenging look.

“You’re going to hell if you don’t do something about this.”

“What would you have me do or say?” I feel exhausted now. “I know I fucked up. Fucked up so bad, there’s probably no way I can make up for it. I’m not exactly fucking celebrating here, alright?” I finally bite out, suddenly angry. “You think I don’t miss the git? You think I don’t wake up dreaming of the bastard every night?”

Pansy looks shocked now, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her glossy, ebony hair.

“You actually miss him?” She looks curious. “You weren’t just... fucking him?”

“Trust me, I thought I was just fucking him too.”

“Well,” she says after a pause. “What changed?”

“I fell for him.”

I don’t look at her and as the silence stretches on and on, my hands begin to sweat a little.

“You... have feelings for him?” She sounds like she doesn’t believe me at all.

“No,” I say glumly. “I think I’m in love with him.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” she asks shrilly.

“I wish,” I snap. “I didn’t know it myself, until last night.”

“Pray tell me who enlightened you,” she asks sarcastically. “Mr.Hung-Like-A-Hippogriff in there?” She snorts.

“Actually it was Hermione,” I tell her.

Pansy raises her eyebrows, suddenly serious, as if Hermione pointing something out is the final word. It kind of is, I suppose.

“How stupid are you that you didn’t know yourself?”

“Very.” I shrug. “I mean, I realised I was falling for him, but I thought if I stop seeing him, I’ll forget about the whole thing.”

“But?” she prompts when I don’t continue.

“I never managed to get him out of my mind,” I admit, shrugging. Jesus, I didn’t even admit this to Hermione and I’m sitting here having a heart-to-heart with Pansy Parkinson of all people? The world really is going mad.

First, falling for Draco Malfoy, and now this.

“You know what you have to do right?” Pansy says now, getting to her feet and picking up her bag. “If what you’re saying is the truth.”

I scowl. “I don’t lie.” 

“Except when you’re running away from the man you love,” she points out instantly.

“Touché,” I mutter.

“He’s supposed to meet me at the Fox Hole tonight for drinks,” Pansy says, suddenly breezy and casual, heading for the door. “8 pm,” she adds over her shoulder.

I get to my feet, suddenly nervous. “Surely you don’t expect me to-"

“Oh yes!” She whips around, smiling fixedly, her eyes glinting dangerously. “You’re _going_ to fix this.” She pokes one talon into my chest.

“Er...” I don’t quite know how to tell her I have no idea how to face Malfoy again.

“Good,” she says primly. “Later.” She pauses, hand on the doorknob. “Bye, Weasleeey,” she croons.

Ron pokes his head out of his room, frowning suspiciously. Pansy blows him a kiss, throws me a hearty wink over her shoulder and then she’s gone in a whiff of expensive perfume.

“Did she just blow me a kiss?” Ron asks weakly.

“Yeah, she’s quite taken with you,” I say absently, wandering into the kitchen. I have never wanted a cup of tea more desperately.

“Barking,” Ron says with a nervous laugh.

I put on the kettle wordlessly and Ron gets the mugs. We take our tea to the sofa, sipping in silence for a long time.

“So, you’re telling him?” he finally asks, flicking at something on his knee.

“Apparently,” I say. “She told me where he’s going to be tonight. I guess... I’ll go. See how things go once I’m there.” I hope I don’t sound as terrified as I feel.

“Good,” Ron mumbles into his tea.

“And you?” I prod.

“Me what?”

“Are you going to see Hermione?”

Ron sighs. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“You still love her,” I say it firmly but it still sort of sounds like a question.

Ron doesn’t answer, just leans his head back, his eyes open.

“More than anything else in the world,” he finally whispers.

Somewhere amidst all the fear and uncertainty, there’s a cheer in my head.

“Let’s do this, mate,” I say, firmly. Hell, if a stubborn arse like Ron can admit it, I can bloody well buck up too.

~

It’s a quarter past eight when I enter the Fox Hole. Ron nearly had a panic attack just when he was leaving for Hermione’s place and by the time I got him to get his shit together, I was running late.

I spot Malfoy at once, sitting at the bar, laughing with some guy who was standing way too close to him.

I’m walking over before I’ve decided what I’m going to do or say, my ears ringing unpleasantly.

“I swear, I’m not lying,” the guy is chortling, his hand on Malfoy’s thigh. “I really did try to kiss Krum – he looked like he wanted me to even!”

“Ha ha, why don’t you go sling that bag of shit around somewhere else?” I snarl, pausing at Malfoy’s other side, glaring daggers at the fucking twat.

“Harry?” Malfoy gasps softly, whipping around.

“Hey, what the fuck-?" the guy starts to say and then suddenly pauses, his eyes widening as he looks at me. “I– I-"

“Walk." I roll my eyes.

The guy disappears in seconds.

“What the fuck?!” Malfoy gets to his feet and glares at me.

I look at him and Christ, there’s no sight more beautiful than this man right here. How could I have been so blind? I love him so much that it aches; aches to just stand there and not reach out and gather him into my arms.

“Hey,” I say softly, stepping towards him. Malfoy hurriedly stumbles back.

“Don’t,” he warns. “I mean it, Harry, don’t you fucking-"

“Can you just give me a second here- ”

“No!” he says, his eyes wild. “What are you even _doing_ here?”

“Hey, I’m allowed to want a drink or two, it’s Saturday,” I say defensively. Spit it out, Harry, you moron, come on.

“That’s fine,” Malfoy says curtly. “Go ahead and do that.” He hurries past me, heading out.

“Would you wait a second?” I hiss, going after him.

“Stop following me!” He throws a glare over his shoulder, dodges a waitress and then he’s pushing the door open and disappearing outside.

“Wait!” I call, cursing as I bump into the waitress, apologising and hurrying past, praying that he hasn’t Disapparated already.

I run out and he’s just rounding the corner into the side alley.

“Malfoy, for god’s sake!” I yell, breaking into a run. I turn the corner and race up ahead into the narrow, dark alley, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him around roughly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he yells, looking practically panicked as he wildly flails his arms around, fighting my grip on him.

“Will you just _listen_ -?”

“No!” He’s almost hysterical, trying to pry my fingers off himself desperately.

“Malfoy, please,” I try again, fast losing my patience, trying to catch his hands in mine.

“Let go of me!” he screams.

“I love you, goddammit!” I bellow, finally just pushing him up against the wall with an arm across his chest.

Malfoy freezes, eyes huge, breathing heavily, his hands clenched in my jacket sleeves.

“I love you,” I whisper it now, stepping closer to him. “So much.”

Malfoy suddenly puts his hands on my chest and shoves me back, his lip curled in fury.

“Shut up,” he hisses, holding up a finger threateningly. “You shut your mouth, Potter.”

“What,” I say blankly as he shoves me again.

“It’s not fucking funny!” He’s hitting me now, repeatedly, chest, stomach, shoulder, and the situation  _would_ be funny if it weren’t so damn bewildering.

"What is it with you Slytherins?" I shout at him, trying to catch his hands again. “Do you see me laughing?”

“You fucking,” he pants, banging clenched fists on my chest. “Rat _bastard!_ ”

I want to laugh, I want to crush him to me and never let go, I want to kiss him for days.

“Malfoy, come on.” I finally catch his hands. “Stop it!” I yell into his face. “Honestly, I could snap you like a twig, you skinny git.”

“ _I hate you!_ ” Malfoy howls. “How dare you?!”

“How dare I what, Malfoy?”

“You can’t do this, you just can’t fucking _do_ this!” he hisses through grit teeth.

“What can’t I do?” I’m deliberately calm, and it riles him up further. He practically hops on the spot trying to free his hands.

“Let me GO!” he bellows.

“Hey! Over there!” There are two figures standing under the streetlight at the mouth of the alley, peering into the darkness where Malfoy and I stand. “What are you doing?”

“It’s alright, it’s all good here,” I call out.

“No!” Malfoy yells at once and I roll my eyes, sighing. “Help! Help me!”

The two men start walking towards us, one of them stubbing out a cigarette on the alley wall.

“Step away from him,” one of them tells me, pulling out his wand. “Let him go now, come on.”

Trying really hard not to laugh, I try again, “Look seriously, everything’s alright... just a stupid fight between boyfriends.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Malfoy says quickly, and I want to kiss him shut. “I don’t know him.”

“Holy fuck, are you Harry Potter?” the other man suddenly asks, squinting at me in the semi-darkness with his mouth open.

Malfoy curses vehemently.

“Yes, yes I am,” I say brightly. “And this is my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy.”

“No I’m not, I’m not his boyfriend,” Malfoy yowls. “I _hate_ him- I fucking hate you,” he suddenly growls at me.

“No you don’t,” I say cheerfully. “Seriously, it’s all good,” I say to the men. “Thanks for asking. Keep up the good work,” I call after them as they turn back around. “Always stay alert and always step up to help,” I add loudly, pinning Malfoy with my chest as he suddenly thrashes.

“Wait!” he screams frantically. “Wait, please wait!”

The men pause, turning around, exchanging looks of confusion.

I sigh again, glaring at him.

“Will you stop that?” I say irritably.

“Let me go then,” he says at once, squirming.

“No,” I say in a low voice. “Never,” I add, pressing my forehead to his. “ _Never_ again.”

Malfoy’s breath hitches and he lets out a funny sound, like a cross between a sob and a gasp.

“Stop it,” he says, voice shaking, whole body shaking. “Please.”

“I love you,” I say simply.

“No you _don’t_.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You just want to fuck me.”

“No, I fucking _love_ you.”

“Stop it, Potter, you don’t mean that.”

“I’ve never meant anything more, dammit – I love you.”

“No.”

“I love you and I’m never letting you go, _ever_ ,” I whisper fiercely, lacing our fingers together, moving still closer to him. Malfoy doesn’t answer for a long time. He has his eyes closed and is trembling at the mouth, but then, finally, he squeezes my hands gently.

And then I’m kissing him, hard, pouring everything in me into the kiss. Malfoy is whimpering under me, opening his mouth eagerly, letting our tongues wrestle.

I distantly hear muttering about ‘relationship drama’ and hear footsteps fading as the men finally leave. I’m vaguely aware that we are probably clearly visible from the street for anyone to see. And so I pin Malfoy’s hands above his head and kiss him harder, my cock already stirring at the tantalising scent of him.

He’s gasping out dry, heart wrenching sobs now, even as he kisses me, and my chest clenches just listening to it. There’s a burning need in me to convey to him that I really mean it,  that I love him more than words can convey and I’m not just faffing around and I will never, ever hurt him again for as long as I live.

“You _arsehole_ ,” he sobs as I release his hands to cup his face with both of mine.

“I know,” I murmur, kissing his eyes, his brows, his temples, his sharp cheekbones, his perfect nose. “I know,” I repeat. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you so fucking much, I’m sorry.”

Malfoy fists his hands against my chest, leaning into me as I continue to sprinkle his face with kisses, pressing his own mouth along my jaw and down my neck. “Love you,” he whispers in a broken voice. “Always loved you."

“I’m sorry I’m an idiot,” I tell him, and he laughs, nuzzling my collarbones, clutching at my jacket. “Please,” I say, not really knowing what I’m begging for.

“Yes,” Malfoy says, understanding anyway. So I kiss him again, deep and hard, and don’t stop for a very long time, relishing the feel of his long, slender fingers combing tenderly through my hair, the way his willowy body seems to fit perfectly against mine as we stand pressed toe to mouth, the feel of his warm skin when I push my hands under his shirt, the breath-stealing smoothness of it, the unbelievable softness, and the soft keen he lets out when I thumb his nipples.

“Harry,” he sighs, tipping his head back when I move to kiss my way down the long column of his throat.

“Draco,” I reply, licking my way back up before kissing the tip of his nose, grinning as he huffs out a silent laugh.

“Merlin, that’s weird, coming from you,” he chuckles, the colour on his cheeks evident even in the dark.

“You’ll get used to it.” I smile.

He doesn’t say anything to that, his eyes twinkling as he leans up to nuzzle my nose.

“Let’s go some place I can strip you naked and fuck you into oblivion, shall we?” I nip his lower lip. He sucks in a quick breath, looking up at me, his lips twitching on the verge of a smile. “Oh. I mean, where I can make _luuurve_ to you.” I grin.

He throws his head back and laughs throatily. “Promise never to say that again.” He mock-grimaces. “Fucking me into oblivion is perfectly acceptable.”

“Good,” I growl, and he reaches for me, humming contently as I roughly capture his mouth in mine again. 

We’re still kissing when I Disapparate, and don’t stop even as I tumble onto the bed, landing heavily on him, eliciting a lovely moan from him.

I pull back reluctantly, the need to see him naked finally too much. I undress him, my fingers fumbling aggravatingly. When I’ve finally torn off his pants, I pause, taking in the sight of him lying there, running my hands reverently over him, hungrily drinking him in, his tousled hair like a golden halo on the pillow, his swollen, red mouth, his rounded shoulders and the sharp jut of his collarbones; the stretch of creamy skin, that flat plane of his chest, criss-crossed with the faded scars that I’d given him, his almost concave belly, his never ending limbs, and the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen.

“Harry,” Draco says quietly, reaching for me.

“God, I've missed you,” I murmur, covering his body with mine, determined to prove it too.

* * *

The first thing I’m aware of is the weight of Harry’s leg thrown possessively over me. I’m pinned to him so tightly, I can barely stir. I open my eyes and try anyway, managing to turn slightly in the circle of his arms so I’m lying on my back. I stretch, trying not to grin like an imbecile and then suddenly realise I’m not in my room.

We’re lying in the centre of a huge bed, its covers maroon and black. There’s a large wardrobe to one side, and a dresser next to a door which I assume leads to the en suite. Most of the opposite wall is taken up by the window through which the late morning sunlight is slanting in, warm and yellow.

I’ve never been in Harry’s room but somehow, this room seems familiar – it feels like _Harry_.

I look at him now, he’s fast asleep, and yet his grip on me is frighteningly strong.

If I had wanted to spare a few minutes trying to figure out what came over Harry last night and how he knew where to find me, I'd lost track when he'd begun to kiss me. But now it’s clear – Pansy.

The bint has been busy.

I didn’t want to believe him. Even after Harry brought me here, stripped me bare, looked at me and kissed every last inch of me like I was something to worship – not even then.

I didn’t want to believe him even as he fucked me, his thrusts deep, relentless, _hard_ , and yet, somehow, imploring, like he was begging me for something.

And then I’d seen the way his eyes locked onto mine seconds before he came, the look of a man who’d been starving for days and has just been told that he’s won a million Galleons – wonder, disbelief, elation and finally, gratitude.

And then the way he’d buried his face in my neck, holding me, crushing me to him, whispering my name, my given name, on loop, saying those words over and over until I'd stopped him with a kiss.

How easily he said those words, like he’s been saying it to me all our lives.

Harry stirs, licking his lips and smacking them, before resuming his soft snoring, and I purse my lips on a maniacal smile that wants to take over. I feel my heart swell until I can barely breathe and have to close my eyes and steady my breathing for a moment.

I stretch again, feeling the familiar ache in the places Harry’s been.

It was nearly dawn when we’d finally fallen into a heap of tangled limbs, Harry pulling and crushing me to himself, seconds before we both fell asleep. I couldn’t tell you the difference between a horse and hippogriff by then, so well-fucked was I.

He’d held me and bent me and flipped me around as he fucked me into a boneless heap - before fucking me some more. He'd run his mouth and tongue and hands over every bit of me, not sparing a single square inch of skin. He'd marked me with gentle fervour, as though marking territory, and had clutched desperately at me as he'd moved languorously over me, his open expression making my throat close up.

I'd barely been able to catch my breath between sessions, before he was on me again, lifting me and pulling me, stretching me out with his tongue and fingers and cock, burning me open with hard, rough, indescribably satisfying thrusts, keeping me on a high that refused to subside.

And yet, it felt different. He always did fuck me thoroughly, Harry, but last night wasn’t just mindless sex, careless thrusts and hoarse swearing. It was reverent caresses, whispered endearments and silent promises.

God, we’re really good at this sex stuff, I shudder bodily, my cock already stirring at the memory of his mouth on it, sucking and stroking with lightning quick strokes, my own screams ringing in my ears...

I bite my lip, glancing at him again, and slowly turn to face him once more. Inching my hand between us, I reach, edging further below until –

I grasp his his already half-hard cock, stroking the substantial length, tugging gently, moving my hand over it the best I can.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he suddenly says, his voice thick with sleep and hot as hell.

“Oh, but I really had to,” I say, leaning forward and biting my way up his jaw, sliding my thumb through the warm pre-come beaded in the slit of his cock.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he growls, eyes still shut, and before I can do more than shiver in anticipation, he’s on me, hands on either side of my face, his shaggy hair falling onto his gleaming, emerald eyes as he looms over me like a great big, incredibly sexy beast, his weight holding me down.

“As if you’ve _ever_ warned me before,” I groan, pinned down good and proper, but then pulling his head down so I can kiss him breathless anyway. I reach down curl my thumb over the glans once more before breaking the kiss, deliberately looking him in the eye as I lift my hand to my mouth to suck on my thumb, humming at the piquant burst on my tongue.

His eyes darken dangerously as he lets out another low rumble and kisses me again, all teeth and tongue, before flipping me over easily, pushing up the hair on the nape of my neck so he can lap and suck there, nibbling and licking, and I’m already hard and leaking onto the bed covers.

“God, you taste...” he breathes, but doesn’t tell me how I taste, instead moving me around so I'm on my knees, biting and sucking his way down my spine, while I arch into and away from his mouth all at once. “Especially down here." His stubble grazes the inside of my arse cheeks as he pulls them apart, pushing his face in to suck at my arsehole, breathing in deeply. "Fucking heavenly."

“Salazar,” I whisper into my pillow, my knuckles white from clutching it so tight, his tongue setting every nerve ending in and around my arsehole on fire. I can feel shudders start to painfully ripple up my spine, and grit my teeth until my head throbs when he pulls me open with the pads of his thumbs and slurps noisily into my arsehole.

I try my hardest best to muffle my screams in my pillow, bucking mindlessly into his mouth as he devours me patiently, licking and licking until he can push his tongue in easily and then licking some more, until he’s sucking, all the while making wet, shamelessly obscene sounds. He seems in no hurry as he sucks leisurely, holding my arse cheeks open with two thumbs, nibbling around my opening and quickly licking over.

I don’t want to beg, I really shouldn’t after doing it all of last night, but he doesn’t show any signs of actually fucking me as he goes on and on, and I’m way too close to my orgasm and I desperately want him buried to the hilt inside me when I come.

So I lift my face off the pillow, nearly in tears, and shaking like a fucking virgin.

“Harry-” My voice breaks and I grit my teeth, trying again. “Harry, please, I need you inside me.”

There’s a low hum from around my arsehole and I hiss at the added sensation of it, reaching behind me and gripping him by the hair.

“Enough,” I snap, my back bowing uncontrollably as he shoves his tongue all the way into me. “Potter!  _Enough_. Fuck me now.”

I was meant to sound firm, commanding, but manage to sound like I’m pleading with him anyway.

“ _Harry!_ ”

“I can do this forever,” he says candidly, emerging to nibble over my tail bone, casually slipping two fingers into me and scissoring wide, making me buck so hard that I hit my temple on the headboard. I don’t even fucking care.

“Later,” I promise shakily. “Inside me. Now.”

I crane my neck to see him grin, and I swear this man is pure evil.

Still, he pulls his fingers out, kissing his way up my spine again, licking in long, warm stripes, his stubble scratching me pleasantly, and then I smell the familiar mint of that blue lube he prefers. When he’s bent over me, I feel his hand nudge my arse as he reaches for his cock, and I lean my weight onto my forearms, shivering lightly in breathless anticipation, my arsehole fluttering impatiently.

And then, with a single, steady push he’s nestled where he belongs, letting out a soft, guttural groan.

“Ohfuckyes,” I sigh, pushing my hands into my hair, pressing my forehead into the pillow, clenching possessively around him, feeling his soft balls pressed up against my arse.

“C’mere,” he murmurs into the side of my neck, wrapping an arm under me. With one swift movement, we’re sitting on our knees, my back flush with his muscled chest. He pulls out nearly completely and pushes back in, slowly, unhurried, like we have all the time in the world.

I let out a long, shuddering breath, reaching behind to wrap an arm around his neck. “Kiss me,” I whisper, craning my neck to look at him.

Harry obliges at once, sliding his tongue into my mouth, kissing me eagerly, hungrily, all the while pulling out and pushing back in with those slow, burning thrusts. He unwinds his arm from round my chest, his warm fingers finding my nipple, pinching, playing, so that I’m moaning into the kiss, moving languidly with him.

His other hand snakes down and wraps around my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts, steady, rhythmic, each one perfectly angled to press right into my prostate, still sensitive and swollen from last night.

I moan at a particularly deep thrust, breaking away from his mouth so I can throw my head back onto his shoulder and ride his cock, grinding down hard, spreading my knees wider apart.

Harry’s mouth never leaves my skin, his hand still working my cock tortuously, the other roaming everywhere he can reach, leaving a warm trail all over my body.

“Merlin...” he pants. “You’re fucking breathtaking,” he breathes into my ear, his thrusts quickening by the smallest measure. “And you’re all mine,” he adds, making me shiver again and lean up to beg for another kiss so he’d stop saying things like that.

I want to tell him that he’s terrifying me, that he cannot possibly mean the things he is saying because I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember and he cannot suddenly feel the same way about me, it is just too ridiculous to be true.

“I love you,” he whispers into my hair, as if he’s heard what I’m thinking and wants to reiterate his words.

I bite my lip, shaking my head and looking away, shutting my eyes so I can’t see that expression of his anymore – open, honest, _devoted_.

“Look at me,” he says, and I simply gasp at a sudden, sharp thrust. “Draco, look at me.” He goes still.

My eyes open despite myself and I’m looking around, staring up at him, helpless.

“Tell me that you believe me,” he says desperately. I whimper, bucking back onto his cock, but with one arm in a vice like grip around my waist he stills me. “Draco... Tell me that you believe me.” He’s looking at me beseechingly, like he’ll bring me the stars and the moon to convince me if I say that I don’t believe him.

Unable to bear the intensity of it all, I simply lean up to try and kiss him, to incite him into just fucking me so hard that neither of us can talk or even  _think_  anymore, so that he can’t see the fucking _tears_ welling up in my eyes like I’m a fucking girl.

Harry, however, pulls away gently out of my reach.

“Please?” he implores and I’m horrified at how _broken_ he looks.

Gritting my teeth as the tears finally fall, I nod, reaching once more for his mouth.

This time he lets me kiss him, and kisses me right back, so hard that my head tilts back and my cock begs for attention.

I whimper and immediately, Harry resumes thrusting, trying and failing to go slow, speeding up steadily and knocking the breath out of me with the force of it instead.

“Harder,” I gasp, eyes wide open, gulping in huge mouthfuls of air. “ _Harder!_ ”

He obliges and I’m nearly dying with how good it feels, my battered prostate taking every stab like a champion, sending shudders of bone-melting pleasure through me that make my muscles seize up as my body prepares to shatter into an epic climax.

I arch off his chest as I come, my orgasm hitting me so violently that it actually  _hurts_  for the first couple of seconds. Harry’s rough hand closes over my, now hypersensitive, cock and coaxes the long spurts of come out of me, and it’s too much, and I can barely even breathe, fighting to draw in air, white hot bursts of pleasure erupting incessantly inside me as he moans into my shoulder.

“I love you,” I choke out, disgracefully needy, pressing back into him, burying my face into the side of his neck, greedily licking the briny sweat there. “I hate how much I love you.”

“ _God!_ ” One word, fiercely gasped, and Harry is coming, filling me up with moist warmth, thrusting with such force that I fall forward onto my hands, fresh waves of ecstasy washing over me as he wetly pounds my prostate, his balls slapping the curve of my arse sharply. I gasp in encouragement, letting my back dip as I push my arse back so he slides in even further, impossibly deep, and Harry groans, claiming me with a last few brutish thrusts, bruising my hips and leaning over me to mark my neck some more.

And I welcome it all, I take him and beg for more, utterly lost in pleasure of preternatural intensity until we collapse, Harry heavy on my back, his hips still pumping lazily, spilling the last of his seed inside me, sucking hungrily on the curve between my neck and shoulder.

I’m gasping for air and clutching at him with an arm thrown backwards, squirming lightly till he lifts off me for a second, just long enough for me to turn over and pull his mouth onto mine, wrapping my arms and legs around him tightly.

“You’re going to kill me one day, fucking me like that,” I murmur into his wild hair, kissing his temple as he pushes his face into the crook of my neck, breathing deeply, his arms wrapped around me like manacles. 

“What better way to die,” he says sleepily.

I pinch his waist and he laughs, grabbing my hands and pinning them above my head, kissing me again.

We’re lost this time, completely unaware of anything but each others’ mouths, and then there’s a muffled, rhythmic thudding from somewhere.

Pulling away with a slight smacking sound Harry frowns, puzzled.

“Do you hear that?” he asks me. “Am I still fucking you?” He looks down between us.

I laugh. “Listen,” I say as suddenly there’s a long drawn moan – definitely female.

“That wanker!” Harry suddenly hisses, looking furious. Suddenly he’s scrambling off me, my legs sliding off him, and grabbing his jeans up off the floor.

“Who?” I ask, worried, pushing myself up.

“Do not tell me he brought that blonde bimbo back, do _not_ tell me that!”

“Bimbo?” I’m looking around for my clothes and can’t seem to spot a single item.

Harry throws open the door and storms out, and not knowing what else to do, I yank the bed covers off, grimacing at the wet come stains before quickly covering myself and hurrying after Harry, barely acknowledging the delicious ache between my legs.

In the couple of seconds it takes me to get covered and make it to the door I hear a crash as a door is thrown open, a bellowed ‘you bastard!’, an even louder shriek and Harry’s yell of, “Shit, sorry ‘Mione!” and a door being shut loudly.

I rush out and bump into Harry, who’s standing with his head in his hands, looking mortified.

“What- ” I start but then the door to my right swings open and Ronald Weasley storms out, zipping up the fly of his faded blue jeans and looking absolutely enraged.

“What the actual fuck?” he bellows into Harry’s face, the tips of his ears a dark red, his freckled chest peppered with love bites.

“You think I _wanted_ to see your hairy arse?!” Harry bellows back. “I thought you’d brought the other bint back!”

“You thought-” Weasley starts, blue eyes bulging, and then breaks off, suddenly noticing me. “Malfoy,” he says stupidly. And then he grins wickedly, pointedly looking at me from head to toe. “ _Naked_ Malfoy.”

“Hey!” Harry barks, stepping sideways to stand protectively in front of me. Both Weasley and I roll our eyes.

“He doesn’t have a hairy arse,” says an amused voice, and then Granger is joining us, securely tying a fluffy white bathrobe, her hair tied up in a messy bun.

“He did from where I stood,” Harry mutters, going red in the face. “I’m so sorry, Hermione, I honestly-”

“It’s alright! Merlin,” Granger laughs. “Morning, Malfoy,” she says pleasantly. “Nice seeing you here.”

I grin back. “You too.” Weasley frowns, looking confused.

“So you two are...?” He gestures between Harry and me.

“Yeah,” Harry says, shifting to wrap an arm around my waist and yank me into his chest. “And you two...?” He scratches the back of his neck with his other hand.

Weasley’s lip curls. “Are you seriously asking me that after what you just saw?” he grits out. “Obviously we are. Fucking idiot."

" _You're_ the idiot - ever heard of Silencing Charms?"

"Ever heard of something known as  _heat of the moment?_ "

"Fuck, even your excuses are idiotic!"

“Malfoy,” Granger says loudly, effectively cutting off her boyfriend's next retort, rolling her eyes and pushing her way between them. “Would you like some tea?”

“I’d love some, Granger, thank you” I say at once, gently disentangling myself from Harry, firmly kissing his jaw before turning back around. " _After_ I find some clothes, though."

“Great. And maybe we could shower and get some brunch after that.” She pauses, looking back over her shoulder. “And you two are welcome to join us if you’re done bickering like a bloody married couple. _Honestly_.”

This is definitely not what I had visualised my weekend would look like, I think, an hour later. We’re sat at a gorgeous Muggle cafe in London, grouped around a round table under the awning out front, eating French omelettes and croissants, bacon and fried tomatoes, sipping on more warm tea, and Harry and I are  _holding hands_ under the table, for crying out loud.

I’m wearing one of his t-shirts, after discovering the ripped remains of my own, and it’s too large for me and keeps sliding off my shoulder, Harry immediately dropping kisses on my bare shoulder every time that happens. I scowl and rudely elbow him in the ribs whenever he does that and he simply laughs, pressing more kisses to my face, my mouth, my hair, cheerfully telling Weasley to shove it when the ginger git complains loudly about public displays of affection, right after which he snogs Granger’s face off.

I’m chatting and actually laughing with the three people who I considered my worst enemies until some years back, and one of them, astoundingly, is whom, I’m coming to believe, I’m going to be spending the rest of my life with.

 

**~Epilogue~**

 

I flatten my hair, suddenly nervous, and then spot Draco at the end of the aisle, my breath leaving me in a whoosh. He’s wearing a Muggle suit and a shy, nervous smile as he catches my eye and looks so utterly, perfectly gorgeous that I want to sprint down the aisle, grab him and kiss him.

He widens his eyes as my intentions show clearly on my face, and shakes his head imperceptibly, biting his cheeks to hide a smile.

I grin and wink at him as the music swells and everyone gets to their feet.

Quickly slipping in between two rows, Draco discreetly makes his way to the front and stands at his seat, turning around just as Hermione enters.

She looks stunning, her hair in a smooth and shiny up-do, her creamy white shoulders bare, her pure white gown hugging her waist snugly before flaring out into a cloud of satin and lace. She’s wearing a veil but I can still see her small smile, the slight blush on her cheeks, as she slowly walks down the aisle, arm in arm with her father.

Ron, standing right in front of me, bounces slightly on the balls of his feet, looking overjoyed, his eyes gleaming, never leaving Hermione.

“She looks incredible, mate,” I murmur, leaning forward.

Ron beams. “Doesn’t she?” 

I can’t help but sneak glances back at Draco all through the ceremony, almost not hearing the minister when he asks for the rings. I grin at Draco again and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head to himself.

When they’re pronounced man and wife, Ron lifts the veil, cradles Hermione’s face with his hands and kisses her deeply to tumultuous applause, gold sparks erupting around us all as the minister raises his wand.

Later, I sneak away before the photographer sees me, and quickly come up behind Draco, tapping him on the shoulder.

“I see you’re alone, care to dance?” I wink. He lights up at the sight of me, letting me pull him to his feet.

I hold him tightly as we sway together, closing my eyes for a few seconds, saying a quick prayer of thanks.

“What are you murmuring to yourself?” Draco scowls playfully.

“Making a mental list of things I’m going to do to you tonight,” I say at once. “With all this bloody wedding work, it’s been ages and I’ve almost forgotten what your arse tastes like.”  He turns red and discreetly steps on my foot.

“Uncouth,” he mutters, looking scandalised and I laugh.

“You realise something?” I ask suddenly. He lifts an eyebrow in question. “Pretty soon, this is going to be us dancing our first dance at our wedding.” I feel the warmth spread through me even as I say it and see the same warmth in his eyes even as he rolls them and makes an odd gagging sound.

“At which point will you get cold feet, might I ask?” he asks airily. “Because you’ve been unnervingly calm and, not to mention, _excited_ about it so far. It's creepy, to be honest.”

“I’m not going to get cold feet,” I promise, taking his hand and kissing the platinum band I’d put on his finger last year.

“What if I do?” he asks now, grinning evilly. “What if I run away?”

“I’ll find you and I’ll marry you, you git.” I press my forehead to his as he laughs.

“You’re _such_ a sap, Potter,” he informs me, shaking his head.

“Sure am,” I agree, kissing him to prove it.

 

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? 
> 
> xoxo
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr!](https://l0vegl0wsinthedark.tumblr.com/)


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